iPoem · 2324.6752.358.159 · Cent mille milliards

1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the best of all things to an end must come

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 2324.6752.358.159 (no. 799,270) was generated on October 19, 2026 at 5:58 am
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