• checkblood 9w

    Imagine the despair of someone old
    Only begging to be called mature.
    I know old grandmother Brie would scold
    If we cut the truckle for mice to lure.
    Old father, fanboy of feta and cheese,
    Would come to the lobby in Switzerland
    And often drop his dusty, rusty keys
    And talk of cheese while eating peas
    Getting a sneeze and leaving with cheddar cheese.
    It is the fault of us children who put out a cauldron
    Which smelt amusingly like Gouda,
    Father came back, asked for a snack
    And told us to save a piece of good Gouda
    But when on his quaint attire
    Was spilled the strangest mixture
    He called out for Molly and shouted, "Holy!"
    And from the kitchen came swiss
    Spread on bread, tomatoes red
    And Molly explained how hole-y.
    I agree, simply grate this cheese was but
    While we were busy with cheesy business,
    The mice nibbled the truckle up
    And everyone was beaten up
    And the only thing left was de Brie.
    Soon, came more cheese and the
    Children giggled with cheeky glee
    But this truckle was only for father
    Who had witnessed quite the disaster.
    And that is how feta up I was
    As the oldest, I was blamed 'boss of the cause'.

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