Its measurement
Was never meant to inches be.
No ruler could
Its length make good: a mystery!

And yet it’s got
A measure not expressed in space;
For it in time,
By beat and rhyme, goes on apace.

It’s ruled in feet,
Which, by conceit, no ruler knows;
But you can see
In poetry the feet I chose.

Iambs they are,
At least so far, and per my score
Each line of two
Is followed through by one of four.

This four by two
I’m doubtless you now comprehend;
This rhyme you’ve read,
Whose lines have led you to its end.