iPoem · 2553.8508.758.889 · Cent mille milliards

1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
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 2553.8508.758.889 (no. 791,466) was generated on July 30, 2026 at 11:15 am
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