"The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese" attributed to G. K. Chesterton
In Holland he found his home
An edible palace to make his own
A place of milk and...err...milk products
That satisfied him to the bone
So he burrowed through and made it right
Creating cheese furniture day and night
Working until perfection came
And he could fill those halls with light
Yet like all joys it could not last
He became lonely in its expanses vast
Longing for his old hole in the wall
And worrying that the expiration date had passed
Then Christmas day did at last come
With people gathering across the kingdom
Eating away his last linkage there
And never wondering where the cheeses strange shapes came from
Since then he lives in his humble hole
Now with wife, kids, and their friend mole
No longer alone on any day
So now he wishes for loneliness to the depths of his soul
Copyright © 2002 by Thomas R.