Shira Sandler Shira Sandler, Shira Sandler, I'm not quite sure how to handle 'er. She be fine, and she be dandler, My Shira Shira Shira Sandler. Her hair as black as berries pure, Her cheeks as red as cherries, sure. She is my one, my true fruit salad, And so of her I sing this ballad. I gazed at her from behind a tree, And wondered if she noticed me. Through my telescope the image was clear Of Shira Shira Shira dear. In her trash I found a treat: A dirty crumpled dress receipt. I dreamed that I could be that dress, And feel her sweet and soft caress. One day I will confess my love And tell her who I'm dreaming of: That precious perfect pert womandler, That sexy sneaky Shira Sandler. For more about Shira, visit: http://www.shira.net http://www.shira.org/ http://www.shira.com E-mail: shira@oldeenglish.org