Sandra Elizabeth Spraddly Sprout

It was, oh dear,
a mouse, I fear,
sent poor Sandra scampering,
o'er hot coals amid the flicker,
of fire fly nights.

How Sandra Elizabeth Spraddly Sprout,
could have ever really found out,
twasn't really a mouse,
sent her scampering,
'cross broken glass,
on her mamma's neglected kitchen floor.

It was, oh dear,
horn-rimmed glasses, I fear,
that made her peculiar,
and the brunt of my pranks,
But at thirty she's hot,
while definitely I'm not,
Who knew? It's Karma,
I think.