or, Found Poem, with Edits
The bone-pot simmers,
the lemon blossom fades.
The last leaf falls.
Regardez, beside the line of roses braving the November air,
just beyond the sage-green shutters to where
a would-be novelist blackens white pages in her chill room.
See you all when Winter’s come.
*Wikipedia: The lumen can be thought of casually as a measure of the total “amount” of visible light. A very short poem or line of poetry — idea popularized by poet Olga Broumas.