Chester poemmatized about some cheese.
Of which my daughter, Emma, would be mighty pleased;
She’s an archeologist—who consumes history with ease—
Whenever a group works on a dig,
If they find a bit, they flip their wig,
Bits, or 30-pounder big!
The older the better,
Gouda or cheddar,
Wheel, wedge, or ball—
None go to waste. Uh, can I have a taste?
They gobble them all.
Velveeta out in Cairo, in a three-sided box;
Cream cheese in Jerusalem, with bagels and lox;
From Milan to Uzbekistan; Feta down to Whiz—
What you dig, you get to chow; that’s just the way it is!
Pompeiian Piazzos to Rome’s rubble ruins
Cheeses are the thing they dig, and heavily pursue ‘em
Because, of course, it has survived, in a perfect state of aged,
And now it’s been disturbed, it will soon decay.
Sometimes they find them crunchy,
Or covered in blue mold;
No matter who, how blue—who knew?! even how old,—
So, nibble what you can, from Scottish moor and bog,
From mountain top and villa; from desert sand to slog,
As archeology goes, it can’t be very long,
Til all the old-old-older cheese gets dug up and gone!