Chesterton said it hadn't been done. It's time to pay tribute to cheese.
a solemn joy grew contentment-
it was a mid-spring's eve;
laughter echoed beyond the stolid oak,
oaks that rejoiced with us
and quivered in the wake,
in the solidarity of rapturous reverberation;
the nightingale sang his praise,
his tale interspersed with woe and anguish and
delight-filled bliss;
we too have known the darkness
and have banqueted in its shadow,
feasted on its shores;
but light, ripened berries and
the triune resonance of Il Cannone
sent it flying.
the Decameron's mountain,
parmesan mounds in plenty;
its salty, savory flavor preserves a memory
not soon forgotten,
embraced.
and i am full.
1 comment:
i have always thought there a woeful lack of odes to cheeses. perhaps next you will consider the soft ripened variety?
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