11,112,006,825,558,016 Sonnets

(after Queneau)

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy?
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart,
And kept unused, the user so destroys it.
But flowers distill'd though they with winter meet,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.

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