My notes tell me this poem aspires to be a roundel. Aspirations be damned, here it is!
On the first day there was art,
on the second, marble, clay,
then the reed, string, and heart.
On the first day it was good
until one day
we saw dancer and dance apart
knew potter from the clay,
found player playing the part,
forgot no chorus, note, refrain
were printed on any chart
on the first day.