This poem came to me one Sunday after church while I was walking with my little boy in our backyard. It is basically an expression of my anxiety to be a good father.

LITTLE GOLIATH

Soft knuckles,

Tiny grasping fingers,

Silly smiling cheeks on which the kiss of God still lingers –

Of those who love you is there one

To guide your awkward steps

Away from Jesse’s mighty son?