#iambic

Sure! I read this as iambic pentameter with some substitutions. You might divide the feet differently than me where there are substitutions! Because it's metrical but loose, I've marked with parentheses some places where dialectal differences or just stylistic ones could change the number of syllables, like in the word smile or flickering. Here's my take:

◡ – ◡ / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – She sits in / the park. / Her clothes / are out / of date. ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – Two chil/dren whine / and bic/ker, tug / her skirt. ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – A third / draws aim/less pat/terns in / the dirt – ◡ / ◡ – / ◡ – / – / ◡ – Someone / she loved / once passed / by – / too late ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ ◡ / ◡ – / (◡) ◡ – to feign / indiff/erence to / that ca/sual nod. ◡ – / ◡ – (◡) / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – ◡ “How nice” / et cete/ra. “Time / holds great / surprises.” ◡ ◡ / – – / ◡ – / ◡ ◡ / ◡ – ◡ From his / neat head / unques/tionab/ly rises ◡ – / ◡ – / – ◡ / ◡ – / ◡ – a small / balloon… / ”but for / the grace / of God…”

◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – (◡) / ◡ – / ◡ – ◡ They stand / a while / in flicker/ing light, / rehearsing ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – the child/ren’s names / and birth/days. “It’s / so sweet ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – to hear / their chat/ter, watch / them grow / and thrive, ” ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – (◡) / ◡ – ◡ she says / to his / depar/ting smile. / Then, nursing ◡ – / ◡ – (◡) / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – the youn/gest child, / sits sta/ring at / her feet. ◡ ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – To the wind / she says, / “They have ea/ten me / alive.”

so grateful for the grace that kindles kindness.

The warmth you offer spirits small and scorned

well eases any chill the river brings.

How Love is shelter! —all your embers safe

from weeping rains and thieving winds of life

threatening the parts of you that glow—

and when you share those sturdy walls, that roof,

and hang a welcome on your door—my heart!

You comprehend, you understand,

You even might agree;

Your work receives their reprimand,

You grant them amnesty

Their words, they hurt and wound your heart

And no reprieve you see;

The fault is mostly yours in part,

They lead you to believe

The list of dysphemisms hums

A haunted hateful tune;

Your fatal solecism comes

To make the vultures swoon

Without demur, “they’re right,” you grant;

Inside, your mind, it flails;

Despite your work, “it’s nought,” you chant,

With words rehearsed in wails

“The vitriol we call rebuff

Will burn inside your soul;

It’s caustic but will cleanse enough

Your dreams into your goals”

You feed yourself this sweetened lie,

But always should you boast;

In lieu of expiation, rise,

And be not lachrymose

Be sure your work and effort spent

Is meritorious;

Of course their words a heart can wrench,

But let it hurt you less

It takes a strength to wear this guise,

Resolve to never flee,

And say with grief and tear-filled eyes

“It doesn’t bother me”

At night and underneath new light,

The neighbored moon now shines on me.

I walk in nature, nearing home.

But sounds were gnawing at my neck.

-

Nocturnal noises ever nigh.

They nestled niches, knowing now

Where I was -- No, where next I'd be.

But these were native normal sounds.

-

I need not fear Her natural state,

But someone -- something neared my nest.

It gnashed and gnarled, but never moved.

Anyway, I hope Catullus is happy wherever he is, slowly driving me insane.

edit: thanks to @catullan for pointing out that I literally misspelled arido/arida like five times in this post! That is my bad! I meant arido/a not ardo/arda (because that would kind of tank my conspiracy theory—ink and paper can be described as dry…but not hard)