1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum

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 5841.2952.517.435 (no. 789,554) was generated on June 16, 2026 at 12:06 pm
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