I think that I shall never eat
A poem lovely as most cheese.
A cheese whose hungry body is prest
Against my taste buds, Mmmm – the best!
A cheese that sits with God all day,
And learns to sit, and sit, and age;
A cheese smoothly covered in waxy lacquer
Can be sliced and placed atop a cracker!
Upon whose bosom mold has sat;
Who intimately lives with fat.
Poems are made by folks like me,
But only cows, goats, sheep, buffalo,
and cheesemakers can make cheese!
– Mark L. Lucker