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Marooned for three years, Ben Gunn was

‘sore for Christian diet’. He dreamt of cheese,

toasted mostly.


Doctor Livesey always had about him

a piece of Parmesan in a snuffbox.

When he heard about the dreams he said,

‘Well, that’s for Ben Gunn!’


But we never find out if the ‘half mad maroon’ savours

the King of Cheeses. Maybe he eats it –

and wishes it were Cheddar.



Note: This poem is a slightly revised version of  part of REVELATIONS, published on the site in March 2011.





© Copyright David Selzer
2 Responses
  • Keith Johnson
    March 28, 2018

    If cheeses be the food of love, plate on.
    Give me excess of it that, surfeiting,
    The appetite may sicken, and so die.
    That strain again, it smelt of cowshed stall.
    Oh, it came o’er my lips like the rank round,
    That stinks upon a harlot’s oxter,
    Stealing and giving odor. Enough, no more.
    ‘Tis not so tart now as it was before.

  • David Selzer
    March 29, 2018


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