Steep and swift the falling lee
The drop that lifts the spirits so,
Grass as high as the eye can see
And a cheese at the summit ready to go.
With a roar the cheddar churns the ground
And cheesecloth shreds the brittle mud
As piles of bodies tumble down
With broken bones and scuffs of blood
Inexorably those packed curds roll
Like wild boar clearing a woodland path
That lactic gyre takes its toll
Cheese always has the final laugh.
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