Here’s another poem for NaPoWriMo. I think it actually needs a closing verse, possibly a couple of them, but I’m letting this one stand for now.

The young man stood facing
The huge Philistine
A stone in his hand,
His weapon, a sling.

“Who comes to fight me?”
The enemy reviled.
“I’m a mighty warrior,
He’s but a child!”

“A stone in his hand?
Does he think I’m a beast?”
He shouted to all,
Not afraid in the least.

“I fight not with stone,
With spear, or with sword.
I come to face you
In the name of the Lord!”

The stone shot out,
It flew true and straight.
And killed the brash giant
Who learned fear too late.