Whistle rhapsody      The isolated lady   An isolated old 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 its 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beloved   Simple folk struggle with their own confused    Concerns, still      But she puts her pity on pause   And withdrawn from the delicate   And uncorrupted by the crude   She resigns even her/ own   Designs-   Then all at once   Brings in a breath   Purses her purple   Her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