When I think of thee, my heart doth sing, A tune so shrill, so piercing, it doth sting, A symphony of gouda, melted to perfection, A fromage so fine, it doth make my heart's affection.
A plague upon the cheddar, the Swiss, and all, For they cannot hold a candle to thy gouda's hall, I'll take a wheel of this brie, this feta too, For with each bite, my heart doth sing anew.
But soft, my love, what light through yonder window breaks? A fromage shop, with wheels and wedges, and gouda makes, I'll take a trip, to sample all thy delights, For with each taste, my heart takes flight.
And thus, my love, I'll sing thy praises high, For thou, oh gouda, art the one that doth apply, To all my senses, a delight so fine and bright, A love so strong, it doth ignite the night.