In the Tradition of Bad Victorian Poetry

[odditycollector]

 
daegaer writes, The world is a poorer place now that no one serenades cheese!

It's just so true.

And thus...





On the table, the colour of a fresh orange rind:
A block of cheese some inches thick,
and if one would measure, one might find
it roughly the shape and weight of a brick
(but much more edible, in my opinion).

Cheese! A better snack than fruit with mead;
there is no worry of choking on a pit.
And more polite than a loaf of hardened bread,
for it makes no sound when you cut it.
(and ever more satisfying than a meal of pinions.)

You may keep your chicken and mashed peas!
I think I would be rather pleased
to eat naught but that in front of me:
A fair slab of well aged cheese;
A goodly slab of well aged cheese.

For there is nothing quite so good as cheese.


.
.
.
*bowes*
Thank you, thank you. You’re too kind.