Where is Jill when she's not hooey? She's phooey and chewy weary of the middle class resenters surrounded her ship off state. The island marine crowd of her love and the hurly-burly of shallow waters.

IF the edge of the gorse is where she dons her heather, then paying with a feather's the best bargain going. Only poets know this secret. and their love shines daily.

She wins the latticed ornament worked of the bench. A lover's brief is none or full. She's rosy cheeked to her armour.