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      But she puts her pity on pause,   and withdrawn from the delicate,   and uncorrupted by the crude-   she resigns even her own   designs-   then all at once   brings in a breath,   purses her purple,   her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.