La Femme Du Fromage (The Maiden Made of Cheese)

The Traveler enters, eating a piece of cheese.

Please excuse me, I'm so sorry,
I fear that I'm being rude,
but something strong has come along,
it will warrant being rude.

Accept my meek apologies,
I hope I'm not disrupting,
but I've a tale that makes one pale,
it's worth my interrupting.

Now if I was a decent man
(to be one, one day I'll learn)
then I would sit and wait a bit
until you have reached my turn,

but please grant a little kindness,
win a "nobleness" award.
You lend an ear, I swear you'll hear
a rich tale as your, reward.

Now that I have used abruptness
to quickly, rudely win you,
the only task is now to ask,
Dear Friends, should I continue?

This forum uses common rules,
the all of which should apply.
When I inquire to your desire,
please bless me with some reply.

I ask again, now cynical,
to quickly, rudely win you,
the only task is now to ask,
Dear Friends, should I continue?

Oh, my precious friends you bless me
with the lending of your ear,
but let's realize the host of eyes
who find themselves new to here.

I wish you could all be welcomed
with a feast of this Gruyere,
but without shame,
I will be lame,
there's just not enough to share.

Now it's true that you must know me,
to grasp this scenario,
but don't deduce,
I'll introduce who I am,
then 'ere we go.

I'm a normal vision's normal.
Plain as one could ever be.
Just as humdrum as one could come
with one eccentricity.

For I posses such a hunger
to hear of legends lost.
I always long to hear a song,
and they're always worth the cost.

Especially when the story speaks
of a monster, god, or night,
a king, a queen, a pope obscene
(wouldn't that be a delight).

But tales I find that blow my mind,
define the monumental,
are those which change, or rearrange,
one's substance elemental.

To hear of new forms created,
that's the music that I love,
to hear surmised of things comprised
of what they could not be made of.

For those of you who may be lost,
I'll present you an example;
to hear of pigs 'twere made of figs,
perhaps that would be ample.

Or a poet made of cotton,
or a singer made of gold,
of god's that fly made of you and 1,
(well, perhaps that one's been told).

Of soldiers comprised of iron,
of hearts comprised of lead,
of lover's tears that fall for years
long after the lover's dead.

This leads to the insanity
that lends all this madness zeal,
for when I hear of heroes queer,
I believe them to be real.

Despite your laws of logic,
and of the reality,
perhaps I'm dazed, perhaps I'm crazed,
but its my mentality.

And thus to give this strangled life
an oxygenated twist,
I search high lows for lost heroes
who simply cannot exist.

That's my soul madness, excepting
of a humble love for cheese,
and wine we pass from cask to glass,
but now must we include these?

You folks have a certain nature,
of which I am growing fond,
when this minion wants opinion
you simply fail to respond.

This is the quest which brought me here,
finding fire to fuel the flame.
I try to find the fabled kind
of hero, and that's my game.

This morning while I was searching
for heroes of legends carved
I felt the worst hunger and thirst,
the poor appetite was starved.

It led me to a small tavern,
and I tell you, it was nice,
along the Rhone on cobblestone,
'twas a trav'ler's paradise.

A chimney burning jet black smoke
leaping forth to kiss the sky.
Shutters windblown on walls of stone,
'twas quite pleasing to the eye.

The entrance was strongly guarded
by a nine foot gothic door,
which sang a "creak" when pushed to peak
of what laid upon it's floor.

I entered and took a table,
counted out my dwindling change,
still unaware that in the air rested
something slightly strange.

The soul patron wore an eye-patch,
his beard blowing in the breeze,
before him sat a fearsome fat
blonde brick of beautiful cheese.

Seeking service from my hostess
in this home along the Rhone,
what a surprise to realize,
my neighbor was there alone.

Though provincial architecture
is truly worth admiring,
to sit and wait for luncheon's plate
was slowly getting tiring.

I watched my neighbor devouring,
hunger's appetite revered,
my gut grew aches for the small flakes
that were trapped within his beard.

Perhaps starvation's silent scream
brought about his kind reply,
he entreated, thrice repeated,
with a wink of his good eye.

He entreated, thrice repeated,
with a wink of his good eye,
he entreated, thrice repeated,
with a wink of his good eye.

He entreated, thrice repeated,
with a wink of his good eye...
forgive these crimes, that makes four times,
I will take care not to lie.

I took a chair at his table,
and then he picked up his knife,
and took a stab to take a slab,
so generous is this life.

To famished to be well mannered,
and give thanks to this kind sir,
I rushed to bite the sweet delight
when he said "You hunt for her."

I dropped my culinary tools,
I was taken by surprise,
was this divine or genuine
or just one of many lies?

"Sir", said 1, "your manner's strange,
I know not of what you say,
for I'm just here to grab a beer,
and then I'm on my way."

He buckled out a fright'ning laugh,
I knew not what would occur.
He said "You posses a passion,
and are here to hunt for her."

I felt my heart fall to my gut,
there was not a beat to spare.
Who was this soul who knew my goal,
and gave me such a scare?

"I know not of what you're speaking,
give an explanation, please".
He said  you are surely searching
for the maiden made of cheese."

My mouth was filled with water,
such desire did I feel,
the only cure was to be sure,
"Please tell me.  Please.  Is she real?"

His silence everlasting,
yet he flashed me such a smile,
that then I knew her to be true,
a voyage was worth its while.

“Dear kind sir, I implore you,
tell me everything you know.
Where is this made of whom I’ve prayed?
Just tell me where to go.”

He took a drink and said “Relax,
You’ll know all in good time.
Your company’s congenial,
so we’ll share the tale and wine.”

He leaned back, scratched his ear, then beard,
sighed a sigh, then shook his head,
and with a smile we talked awhile,
and this, friends, is what is said:

’Twas a merchant with a market
and it was not far from here.
Buy selling cheese he could support
A brother whom he held dear.

For the brother held the beauty
To create a wondrous time.
He held the gift to make one laugh
but he could not make a dime.

And the brother was a farmer,
with a wife who could destroy
with her smile, so endearing
and a laugh ‘twas filled with joy.

So the merchant made the money
and the brother brought the jest
the wife wrought women’s magic
and the nature brought the rest.

And in time, as God would have it,
her belly began to grow,
and she consumed more cheese and milk
then you would prefer to know.

And three-fourths of that year passing,
she combined the joy with strife,
she brought forth a heavenly child,
yet she paid the price of life.

Thus ending a perfect trio,
another was created.
Now, to tell you of the daughter,
what you've kindly awaited --

Her fine feet were formed of Feta.
Her calves of Monterey Jack.
Her thighs of the choicest Cheddar,
a Gouda comprised her back.

"Twas her tummy's tart Le Tomme
which was where the dryness stopped.
Brique de Brebis comprised her ribs
with breasts of Epoisse on top.

Le Fromage Fort du Beaujolais
made the shoulder's magic charms,
Le Chevretons du Bourbonnais
comprised her caressing arms.

Le Chevretons du Macconais
made her soft and handsome hands,
lady's fingers of Charolais,
the loveliest of all lands.

Her fresh face as finely crafted
as a perfect Camembert,
and eyes more blue than Roquefort's veins,
which would tear Le Saint Nectaire.

So rich and blond and golden
was this wondrous women's hair,
which surpassed in taste and color,
this superior Gruyere.

'Twas talk of her composition
that has traveled overseas,
but there's more to the miracle
of the maiden made of cheese.

For one more morsel of magic
of the maiden's mystery
was ev'ry morning, with the sunrise,
she would birth a Baby Brie.

Which this treasured trio treated
as their after meal's delight,
finding the finish from their day,
warmly welcoming the night.

Now each fable has one villain,
but reality has more.
Now to speak of Andre' and Andy,
two one knows you will abhor.

They were landlords of this region,
owned the first tree to the last.
A husband-sister-brother-wife,
descendants of rulers past.

And rather then push their power
to promote a common right,
their soul desire was to appease,
their indulgent appetite.

Their fine feasts had forty courses.
They'd just touch two tastes of each.
The whole world's most wonderful wines,
were always within one's reach.

There'd be mutton meat and chicken chunks
beside seven cuts of steak,
then well-aged cheese and fresh-picked fruit
followed by torts and cake.

And when the cash could not cover
the fantastic feast's expense,
they'd simply raise the region's rent,
and readily recommence.

This continued and continued
'till the town could take no more.
So they politely petitioned, pleading
"Soon we'll all be poor."

Their response was quick in coming,
and then it was edicted,
that those who fail to find the funds
would quickly be evicted.

Therefore, to save their simple homes,
and pay this precocious price,
our neighbors chose their cherished cheese
as their object of sacrifice.

And the merchant's merry market
soon found its fine chambers bare,
and so, when funds were needed most,
there was nothing new to spare.

As the brothers began building
a needed plan of action
the farmer flashed a fresh-faced smile
that smelled of satisfaction.

"For now" he said, "our only wealth
is the love that's shared by three,
so for the rent we'll offer half
of our baby's baby brie.

On one hand, they'll think we're loony,
on the other, they may not.
So while we're backed against a wall
let's at least give it a shot."

The merchant said "All right, we'll try,
but I'll talk when we arrive,
for this business is my forte,
it's the wine on which I thrive."

They walked up the castle walkway
where they clanged the castle bell.
The merchant spoke when 'twas answered,
and you'll see that he spoke well.


"Good morning, kind Sir and Madam,
we have a proposition,
for this most recent rent increase
is quite an imposition.

Therefore -- for our monthly dues --
we offer, rather than fees,
a palate's pristine paradise.
We're speaking, simply, of cheese."

And that was where he winded down.
The reason he said no more,
was after these fine forty words,
the landlords slammed shut their door.

The merchant became discouraged,
but his brother begged "'Don't cry,
I did admire your eloquence
and now I would like to try."

He rang again, and then again,
and waited a little while,
and when the closed door was opened,
he said, with a little smile,

"I fear it's nothing new for me,
to have doors slammed in my face,
but to be mocked after tasting,
that might double my disgrace".

Andre' ached for abilities
to supply some stinging spite,
and so he bit the brother's bait,
by tasting the tempted bite.

Were the brother's snidely snubbed?
What do you think, take a guess.
Andre' greedily grasped their gloves,
and politely promised "yes".

And then and there it was agreed
the duo would deliver,
half of the daughter's daily brie
so all could share a sliver.


The arrangement, once accepted,
trimmed the trio's tragic dread.
For half their brie they saved the roof
above their beloved's head.

And the landlord's lavishly loved
their delightful little game.
Andy'd force-feed Andre' a bite,
then Andre' would do the same.

And for six soft successful weeks
passed a paradise so strange,
but roses don't grow in gravel,
and their fate would choose to change.

It appeared as a harmless act,
no real reason for dismay,
Andy simply stole a small slice
while Andre' had glanced away.

Yet when accused, Andy refused
to accept the action's blame.
So at the following night's feast
Andre' swiftly stole the same.

These petty products of peril
continued to escalate,
and their sweetness turned to sour
as their love grew into hate.

And rather than seek solutions
that could make the two content,
they demanded that the merchant
yield another ten percent.

So "half" became sixty percent
which soon rose to "seven-0."
Since the trio's home was treasured,
they could never answer no.

Then "seventy" rose to "eighty"
percent of the precious brie,
which left little less than nothing
for a fearing family.


"Eighty" etched it's way to "ninety",
and not one day did they stall
before hounding for "one hundred"
or they would evict them all.

Thus fraught with fears for their future
they paid the rapacious price,
and gave the great God-given gift
to the two as cold as ice.

Yet all were scared, shocked, and surprised
when a cold call came again,
demanding a new percentage
totaling "one hundred ten."

The merchant moaned "My it's madness.
They know that there is no more."
The farmer said "'Relax, We'll chat,"
and they walked to the castle door.

There their trifle turned to terror,
they were trembling with surprise,
when Andy abruptly answered
the door with demented eyes.

"Did you come here to try a trick,
or to test us, or to tease?
For if you love your little necks,
then you've best have brought the cheese."

The mild merchant meekly moaned
'We're afraid there is no more",
but Andy grabbed him by his beard,
forcing his face to the floor.

Then Andre' gripped the farmer's throat,
strangling him against the wall,
and screamed "There is more, you miser,
now we need to have it all."

Then Andy grabbed a golden knife,
which was finely forged for cheese,
that she waved before the merchant
who was weeping on his knees.


"But sir and madam, we implore you,
there's no more, we wouldn't lie."
Andy struck with a quick slick stab
gauging out the merchant's eye.

The farmer, fiercely fighting, screamed
"That's my brother and my friend,"
A wrist was snapped, a neck was cracked,
and a farmer's life did end.

Still the vulgar heathen's hungered
and they went in search of more.
They found the treasured trio's home
and smashed down the simple door.

There they found the darling daughter
and they snatched her from her dreams,
and bit into her breathing flesh,
despite agonizing screams.

They feasted on her Feta feet
and the Cheddar of her thighs,
bit into her back of Gouda
in spite of her painful cries.

They sucked Charolais from fingers,
and the Epoisse of her breast,
they bit each of the Chevretons
to see which they liked the best.

They mercilessly mocked her moans,
coldly cackling at her calls,
they wrote their names in the milk-blood
that was splattered on the walls.

But when they touched the women's womb
they finally found their fate,
for only God is meant to eat
the magic that can create.

The lowly landlords locked their eyes,
simultaneously cried,
and then they burped, then they buckled,
then they tumbled, then they died.


And though the daughter did survive
without the aid of her men,
she was left with a savage scar,
and would never birth again.

Now she lives in isolation,
and she's not filled with regret.
She's just waiting for a future,
with a past one won't forget.

But if you go asking questions,
just to satisfy your "zeal”,
you'll simply open aching wounds
which she's hoping soon will heal.

But you've not the need for worry,
though this might be out of line,
one can surmise from your shirt stains
that you share a love for wine.

Eighty kilometers due south
is a tiny town named Napes,
where there lives a boy named "Corey",
made entirely of grapes.

His full lips are purely purple,
and his skin -- white, green, and red.
One finds vines of every color
flowing freely from his head.

When his lips are pressed together,
he produces such a glass,
that wines of Saint Emillion
could never hope to surpass."

By this time my heart was beating
even faster than before.
I had to go, I longed to know,
all my thoughts were on the door.

But to leave an unfinished plate
would have been so impolite,
what a surprise to realize
that I hadn't touched a bite.

To appear gracious to my host,
I picked up the fork and knife,
but like a wild and joyous child
he laughed, saying "Get a life.

There is not the need for insult
with this fake fine-mannered dung.
There's folly in your forgetting,
friend, that once I too was young."'

I pocketed his gift of cheese,
shook his hand and bid "'adieu."
I grabbed my sack and found the track
that has brought me here to you.

And now I fear I have to leave
(though your company's divine),
to chase sweet sips from purple lips
of a boy who kisses wine.