iPoem · 8933.2161.935.301 · Cent mille milliards

1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum

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 8933.2161.935.301 (no. 789,475) was generated on June 14, 2026 at 6:58 pm
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