1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum

Based on Raymond Queneau’s A Hundred Thousand Billion Poems, The 100,000,000,000,000 iPoem is a non-commercial artistic project inspired by Queneau’s work and the tradition of literary variation it inaugurated.
→ iPoem 44.6955.302.108 (no. 791,790) was generated on August 6, 2026 at 9:15 am
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