Poetic response to William Carlos "The Red Wheelbarrow"

Writing Utensils 

so much depends
upon

a bright yellow
pencil

trapped mercilessly in the
pencil case

en caged in
darkness

Sweet things (Poem to Miss Hancock)

She was the rose in a field of a million tulips.
Who was picked by a toddler crawling by.
She was admired and adorned.
When the child grew up.
The rose was cared for no more.
She was a flower quickly fading.
Here today and gone tomorrow.
The one sweet rose I ever known.
Was the last to be ever grown.