I first read Mots d’heures, gousses, rames ages ago, but the opening of the first poem, with its erudite footnotes, still makes me giggle:
Un petit d’un petit
S’etonne aux Halles.
 The inevitable result of a child marriage.
 The subject of this epigrammatic poem is obviously from the provinces, since a native Parisian would take this famous old market for granted.