1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
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 5004.6600.66.101 (no. 793,319) was generated on September 6, 2026 at 9:59 pm
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