iPoem · 2512.5063.612.569 · Cent mille milliards

1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
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 2512.5063.612.569 (no. 794,311) was generated on September 22, 2026 at 9:39 pm
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