1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
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 5107.1950.579.861 (no. 798,171) was generated on October 16, 2026 at 7:03 am
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