I’d be happy to write you a poem about meters:

In every line, a rhythm beats,
A pulse that guides our wandering feet,
From soft iambs that gently sway,
To trochees bold that lead the way.

Anapests with a quickened pace,
Gallop through with urgent grace,
While dactyls, with their falling sound,
Plant roots deep in the fertile ground.

The syllables dance in measured time,
A metronome of verse and rhyme,
Counting out the poet’s heart,
Where every beat becomes an art.

In meters, life’s cadence is found,
A melody both soft and profound,
For in each measure, strong or sweet,
Resides the music of our feet.