iPoem · 521.5399.712.536 · Cent mille milliards

1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
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
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb

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 521.5399.712.536 (no. 799,246) was generated on October 19, 2026 at 4:32 am
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