dBooks desire

To Caesar what is Caesar's, to God what is God's. A long look
from dark eyes, a riddling sentence to be woven and woven on the church's
looms. Ay.

RIDDLE ME, RIDDLE ME, RANDY RO.
MY FATHER GAVE ME SEEDS TO SOW.

Talbot slid his closed book into his satchel.
--Have I heard all? Stephen asked.
--Yes, sir. Hockey at ten, sir.
--Half day, sir. Thursday.
--Who can answer a riddle? Stephen asked.
They bundled their books away, pencils clacking, pages rustling.
Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all gabbling
gaily:
--A riddle, sir? Ask me, sir.
--O, ask me, sir.
--A hard one, sir.
--This is the riddle, Stephen said:

THE COCK CREW,
THE SKY WAS BLUE:
THE BELLS IN HEAVEN
WERE STRIKING ELEVEN.
'TIS TIME FOR THIS POOR SOUL
TO GO TO HEAVEN.

What is that?
--What, sir?
--Again, sir. We didn't hear.
Their eyes grew bigger as the lines were repeated. After a silence
Cochrane said:
--What is it, sir? We give it up.
Stephen, his throat itching, answered:
--The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush.


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