iPoem · 7521.5883.563.559 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
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 7521.5883.563.559 (no. 807,663) was generated on November 10, 2026 at 4:58 am
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