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regret the dear beloved Simple folk struggle with their own confused Concerns, still But she puts her pity on pause And withdrawn from the delicate And uncorrupted by the crude She resigns even her/ own Designs- Then all at once Brings in a breath Purses her purple Her honey-black lips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