To be an English-speaking child is to have poetic meter -- and one meter in particular -- drilled into your head almost daily. Technically speaking, it's either "tail-less" trochaic tetrameter or "headless" iambic tetrameter: seven syllables, four stresses. It's the meter of most nursery rhymes:
"London Bridge is falling down."
"Mary had a little lamb."
"Twinkle twinkle little star."
And of the playground rhymes Evan brings home from school:
"Give me something good to eat."
"Eenie meenie miney moe."
"I see someone's underwear."
And it remains with us throughout our lives. In high school:
"We've got spirit, yes we do."
In the military:
"I don't know but I've been told..."
Even in seven-digit phone numbers: listen to yourself saying 353-2915, and you'll notice you're stressing the first, third, fifth and seventh syllables.
Sage seems very sensitive to the rhythms of the world. When we're driving around, her backseat monologues may be a mixture of sense and nonsense, but they're pretty consistently tetrametrical.
Tonight Sonja was reading to Sage from a book of children's poems. Then she let Sage "read" to her from the same book, and every sentence seemed to have four beats to it. She even managed a rhyming couplet. I give you Sage's first original poem:
I lie down in the deep dark woods.
I see a flower and the flower is good.