Oh, jeez!

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!