In layers deep, where secrets sleep,A geologist roams alone,With...

In layers deep, where secrets sleep,A geologist roams alone,With Asperger’s keen, his mind a machine,His thoughts like ancient stone.He walks the earth with a measured pace,Eyes sharp, and senses clear,Though gold and gems elude his trace,His vision sees more than near.He never strikes the mother lode,No riches does he claim,But in his wake, the truth he’ll sow,And critique in reason’s name.With a mind like strata, layers precise,He dissects each fault and flaw,In others' finds, he sees the dice,Of nature’s raw, relentless law.Investors chase the glint of gold,Their dreams in core and drill,Yet he sees cracks, where stories told,Of fortunes rise and spill.His voice a chisel, sharp and true,He carves through hype and gleam,Revealing shades of earth’s deep hue,Beyond the simple dream.In conference halls and quiet rooms,He whispers what he sees,A clarion call that cuts through gloom,A compass in the breeze.Though wealth may not his pockets line,His value stands alone,In truths unearthed, his thoughts refine,In knowledge finely honed.A geologist, with mind precise,And spirit strong, untamed,He may not find the market’s price,But wisdom he’s proclaimed.