The Fault in our Feet

She had a falling out with me
The day I fell in love with her.
The fault, I say, was in our feet.
Our gaits were unfamiliar:

I was iambic, out of step
With her trochaic tendencies.
I climbed to slide and jump with joy.
She dove to soar and glide with ease.

She planned pentasyllabic fun
For my monosyllabic moods.
And when she needed space and breaks
I walked into prosaic woods.

It’s good we weren’t meant to be.
I’ve found who’s meter-made for me.

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