Here are the variants of the first line of my hundred trillion poems. My only constraints here were that I couldn't begin any lines with the same word, and that each line had to be a noun phrase.


1. A China cymbal with its upturned flange

2. The journey that is torture to arrange

3. That father, finding that his son is strange,

4. Perfumes that have the power to derange

5. These victims of the fickle stock-exchange

6. Fascists, or members of a vile phalange,

7. What mutt afflicted with a nasty mange

8. Those that have power to hurt, but never change,

9. A blnd-man's room, taboo to rearrange,

10. Young girls enjoying lunch (a rhymeless orange)