When it seemed as if no one had anything else to say, my mother stood up. “Now Patience will sing ‘The Riddle Song,’” she said.
The voice that broke the silence came from the chair next to mine. It was Pat Hargreaves who sang the song—sang it in a high, clear voice with her eyes shut tight.
I gave my love a cherry without a stone.
I gave my love a chicken without a bone.
I gave my love a ring without an end.
I gave my love a baby with no crying.
As she sang the other verses, I thought about what a riddle Aunt Cass had been. All along, she who had seemed so lighthearted, playing silly tricks on me, was also the serious woman everyone else had talked about. It didn’t surprise me that she had liked this song, with its words so full of tricks, its melody so simple and beautiful. It suited her.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish