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Miss Winter's just been in To drink her malted milk. She buys no other stuff of me— No boxes with their value in the label— And I don't believe she trades with Anabelle. She says that all a woman needs is work To keep her circulation up. Miss Winter's something of a joker, Insists that husbands are like drugs A narcotic to the nervous system. She says she dreams of life In terms of dresses Just as I with drugs. I wish she didn't feel so strong for clothing strangers— But it's great to hear her say Deception, respite, dreams, and courage Find in each of us a sharer. And I can wait 'til she is over-tired To alchemize her views with mine.