1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum

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 7057.380.56.850 (no. 807,495) was generated on November 9, 2026 at 5:16 pm
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