The isolated lady,

an isolated older lady;

a dignified dame who keeps her own counsel,

in love with the out-of-the-way;

identifying with the unfamiliar,

contemptuously turns her back on the wicked world

with it's vulgar delusions and correspondingly

scorns its regard.


Our lady alone,

with her scarf over her head

and her pricey purse over her shoulder strap,

wonders up at the heavens

and for yesterday yearns.

The days of old.


Often, she surrounds herself with

like minded bluestockings

and together they regret the dear beloved

simple folk struggle witht their confused

concerns, still.


But she puts her pity on pause,

and withdrawn from the delicate,

and uncorrupted by the crude-

she resigns even her own

designs-

then all at once

brings in a breath,

purses her purple,

her honey-black lips,

and lets loose a high,

and round and resonant,

and glad and grave,

and westward, whistle