Mind my age
when you shave my rind;
I’ve been ripening the perfect time.
my treasured home;
cowbell choir and onion dome.
My mothers loved to roam;
a mix of morn. and evening milk
swirled to texture smooth as silk.
Now I rest with common ilk
while before I sat in copper vat,
salted daily, massaged front to back.
What is that?
I’m to be consumed by common expat?!
But, my affinage is so exact.
I’m healthy, flavorful and fat.
Nutty and bold with singular flair,
not to be toyed with, Monsieur Gruyère.
© khartless 2022, All Rights Reserved
NaPoWriMo#20~challenges us to write a poem that anthropomorphizes a kind of food. I’ve written so much about cheese, I should probably have a separate category about it. I’ve attached a link to Raclette Romance, another cheesy piece. Enjoy!