iPoem · 7652.5461.657.409 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
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 7652.5461.657.409 (no. 802,528) was generated on October 28, 2026 at 3:53 am
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