sonnet out of a hundred thousand

For acid marble's but a friandise

consuming tea and nibbling cream gateaux

the chosen fruit is hued a bright cerise

so stink the rotting skins from long ago

I styll can call to mind those hours of ease

those greedy mice leave nothing for the crow

we chill like nudists put on ice to freeze

most people like to read the words they know

The brave man cries I do not care a jot

the shark is smoked on beds of bergamot

while coming home we find the wind turned mean

You'll come to miss the peasant in his smock

I quite forgive you when you run amok

at least the metro's one place where you've been

from the online interactive version of queneau's cent mille milliards de poemes