Schoolboy hues

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!

A Young Girl's Hair

My four girls were all the same
When upon a pair of scissors they came
About the age of three or four
Their baby locks all hit the floor.

It makes no difference if you tried
To make the offending scissors hide.
Whatever cuts, they do not care
Two used nail trimmers on their hair.

Doubtless, it is always done
The day before a big reunion
Or when the photographer will be
Taking pictures for posterity.