This one is a work in progress, what do you think of this? I'm not sure it is done yet, though I feel it is close. This one was inspired by one of my sons. I home school, and when he was younger he would get so frustrated. I always joked that if I could only find a way to write his lessons on a football he would gain good grades faster.
There is nothing quite so forlorn,
As a student's notebook, pages torn
fists upon the table will beat it
the schoolboy hangs his head defeated.
"But Mother," he pleads, "I don't do well
Describing how the waters swell
Or wondering why the sky is blue,
Should it be some other hue?"
But with a knock upon the door
His heart beats out a different score
He grabs his football helmet and runs
Poem left upon the table, undone.
A mother's work is never completed
But she cannot hang her head defeated.
It is up to her to prod him again
She'd settle for poetry upon the pigskin!