a riddle never gives its fruit
to those who do not give pursuit
the sun shines bright on stony waves
and hermits and their dreary caves
you seek truth? the donkey grins
of happiness or stormy winds
of shoddy demons stealing life
or bakers and their chubby wives
the truth that tells is dressed in red
and selling wine or loaves of bread
no, go away you sill fool
let me sleep, and dream, and drool
