iPoem · 7644.6755.914.579 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
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 7644.6755.914.579 (no. 809,636) was generated on November 15, 2026 at 1:44 pm
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