1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum

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 559.5385.755.481 (no. 805,341) was generated on November 4, 2026 at 6:09 pm
→ voir version originale | create new iPoem
→ navigate in dataBase ‹ ‹ bwd | fwd › ›

← OPEN dataBase

ip number reference:
216.73.217.85
iPoem number reference:
559.5385.755.481
  (dataBase)
Disclaimer: This website uses a temporary session cookie only; no persistent cookies are stored. As part of the 100,000,000,000,000 iPoem project, your IP address becomes one element in the generation of a unique poem among countless possibilities. The information is collected solely for the conceptual purposes of the artwork and is not used to identify you personally.
Okay – I got it – Close