The Unheard Thunder Of A Great Cheese Eaten In Decent Footwear

I light my pipe, but I can’t touch the smoke.

Don’t speak of love, I just don’t have the nose.

You make me laugh? I just won’t see the joke.

Don’t touch me there – however hard you poke,

My eyes no longer smell. The summer rose

Is silent as the grave I cannot hear,

And winter’s cold is mute as my dead hand.

I can no longer feel the noise of beer

Because I find time’s finger in my ear,

And winter’s nose sees snow upon my land.

I’ve lost my touch for wine and other booze.

I can no longer see the summer’s breeze.

When I was a young man, I could smell the blues,

But now I have forgot the taste of shoes.

So take them from my mouth; I’ve lost my ear for cheese.