The smell of cheese, with simplest ease, is tempting beyond compare, But saddest fate, a lactose hate, my body would never dare. And so good gals, my dearest pals, indulged in their delight Of cheesey bread, melted instead, gooey in every bite. Tragic, I say, my body may not feast on best of food: Sad, I know, my genes did grow an anti-lactose brood. And so they jest, like all the rest, on things I cannot eat, But in good fun, it’s tragic none, for I have my own treat. Its flavour faint, with no complaint, its taste is what I’m after, That of the sense, at my expense, of humour and of laughter. No cheese will my body comply, but dine on thus for me, On friendly pokes from silly jokes in their good company.