iPoem · 5524.3925.439.639 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
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 5524.3925.439.639 (no. 805,872) was generated on November 5, 2026 at 9:38 am
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