Automatic Poem #5 (and last for the moment)

^{This is your automatically generated poem for today.}

Sorrow and Gateaux

One's left with only sorrow and disease
consuming tea and nibbling cream gateaux
the native driver is waiting in the breeze
across the hillocks comes a steady blow.

So plain a plain is not what one often sees
your mind turns more and more to gloom and to woe
the flanks protected by chevaux de frise
when March's hailstones batter the batteau.

The wolf adores the cock and the cocotte
in Florence tourists see a deal of grot
the local road laps up leaked gasoline.

You'll come to miss the peasant in his smock
I nominate you as a gapingstock
both Beaune and Chianti flow from Hippocrene?

Reference
celier@~/perso/steemit/queneau$ ls -l