Time

		Without my feet, my feet I rhyme-
		An iamb soul in dactyl shell.
		I keep myself on metric time,
		Though outer clocks do oft compel.

		Those outer clocks hang on the wall.
		They ticking their slow time in prose.
		I long now for a couplet small
		To quicken fast this book I gloze.

		I do prefer quatrain minutes.
		Essay hours drag far too long.
		Instructors sing with novel lutes.
		Haiku makes just as good a song.

		My time's a line. Their time's a page.
		I wish that they'd by my time gauge.