I wonder if I ever will think I am safe.
It is not like I am subjected to a strafe.
It is more like I am a certain kind of tree;
a branch of Christ which will the fruit of Jesus free.
Anxiety I feel whenever I make art.
I wonder when the feeling being saved will start.
Anxiety! I seek you as the bird the air,
believing, only, that its little wing is fair.
And when it is, I find a place to stop and sing.
A tree-top, where I praise and celebrate my wing.
But not for long. Again I must my power test!
Anxiety! God given. Never give me rest!

I believe in French they do not have stressed syllables, so the alexandrine, as the rime coulée, is only syllabic. They say there should be twelve syllables in the line, and that line is what is called an alexandrine. In English, I believe, the alexandrine should be an iambic hexameter. The poem alexandrine is made up of six alexandrine couplets. The couplet should rhyme.

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