Poetry

The Fall

My notes tell me this poem aspires to be a roundel. Aspirations be damned, here it is!

The Fall

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.

By markthegrey

I am a biologist, author, poet, professor, and parent. I nest in Aurora, IL with my spouse and about two to four kids.

Dayum. I’m bowing to you.

Thanks, my orange friend. Im so glad you like this one!