I heard there was a secret metric foot that David knew was favoured by the Lord, and when he penned the psalms he'd often put this pattern the Almighty best adored amongst the endless praise and imprecations; unstressed, plus stressed, suffuses through his pages, though hidden by the English of translations; pentameters still echo down the ages. The spondee's spurned, and has been from the start; an anapaest's anathema, and grim. Though trochees may be near the Maker's heart, you'll never hear a dactyl in a hymn. There's only one the Lord thinks worth a ****: the sacred, the unchangeable iamb.
I must get back into writing serious things again.