A story in cinquains

We tried
Writing cinquains.
Some children were happy,
Some would rather poke out an eye.
Life's hard.

Cinquains,
Only five lines,
Two then four, followed by
Six, eight, two syllables per line.
Must count.

Again
I discover
Another enormous
Gap of what a certain child is
Missing.

I guess
We will now spend
Hours and days and months
Learning to categorize things.
So sad.

And then
On the other
End of the vast spectrum
Of my children, L. just whips
Off this:

I love
The deep, deep ocean
With it's monsters and fish
The seaweed curling around eels
It's dark