“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.”
― G.K. Chesterton
Ode to Cheese
I don't think there's anything better,
no matter the weather or clime,
than to sit myself down
with baguette and round,
which is only improved with wine.
Could you imagine the trauma
of supping on soup with beans,
without having cheese
to perfectly please,
yet still not beyond your means?
Or perhaps you should consider
the despair of the simple cracker,
who without some frommage
is completely garbage
and is simply not worth the matter.
I once heard a person in Gloucester
who, having his pint but no cheddar,
was so sorely distressed
he forgot all his best
and so he got lost in the river.
I don't think it's rather too mighty
nor is my statement a tease,
whether wedge, slice, or ball,
morsel, tidbit, or shred,
there is nothing better than cheese.
©2016 Emily Woodham