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and withdrawn from the delicate,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.