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It began with soft curds, A milky dream in careful hands. But time, the sculptor, played its role. It was created in silence, age, and craftsmanship.
No longer soft, no longer shy. As the years passed, it learned to wait. It get to know its voice in cool, glooms cavers. Not in quick, not compelled, but intentionally slow.
Its scent is strong, and its flavor is unique. A powder that mix both the tongue and mind together. It comes with a calm grace. Like education etched on a timeworn face.
Some recoil, saying it is too intense. However, individuals who have remained have known it for a long time. It takes its place with bread and wine, A symbol of mature embracing.
So give the youngsters a break I'll sit with my thoughts… and aged cheese.
