Poem #6: Cheese

"Poets are strangely silent on the subject of cheese." 

-GK Chesterton

There lived a man named Chesterton

in England long ago. 

Where he was born and in what town 

he grew up, I don't know. 

But he complained once in a book

that, though he had said "please,"

no poet in the world took

the pains to write on cheese. 

So Chesterton, my dear man, 

here's a poem for you today. 

I'll write it for you, if I can 

on cheese, if that's okay. 

My favorite cheese is provolone. 

It's creamy, smooth and white. 

I eat it all the time at home, 

all day and then at night. 

Havarti is another kind

that brings me joy in life; 

it calms the turmoil in my mind

and ends all inner strife. 

Swiss cheese is full of little holes, 

just like a little flute. 

Tim Conway blew right through those holes

and made the cheese go "toot." 

And then there's fancy cheeses like

Roquefort and Camembert, 

you'll find them if you take a hike

to France and search up there. 

Some cheeses come from cows or goats, 

some cheeses come from sheep. 

But cheese from a baboon 

would make my epidermis creep. 

So there you are, dear Chesterton, 

a poem regarding cheese. 

It's not a very good one, 

so I'll stop here, if you please.