1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4normal one aims to be and share the throne

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum

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 896.999.518.555 (no. 797,183) was generated on October 13, 2026 at 6:31 pm
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