I Like Cheese

I like cheese.

I'd like to buy some, if you please
as my mother decrees.

She says I'll get some sort of deadly disease
if I eat too much of these
cheddars and Stiltons and bries.

I'll sit by the sunny seas
under moulting, twenty-foot trees
in the autumn breeze,
with my hands on my knees.

Avoiding the bees.

Waiting for my brain to freeze
as I eat honeyed ice cream and mushy peas.

My mother has many degrees
in human biology. She agrees
that to leave your eyes open when you sneeze
would mean your eyes would squeeze
out of your sockets. This would mean you no longer sees.

To appease
her I said that was not really my area of expertise
and that she clearly knows a lot more about it than me'z.

Now I'm starting to wheeze.

I'm going to seize
this opportunity to end the poem, else it might run for centuries
as so many words rhyme with cheese.

Thanks to moonwalker for the rhyme ideas (See Once Upon ...)

The End

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