When giants come with shaking fists
we quake with fear; prepare for tears.
We rarely dare withstand their guns.
Some call for help. It never comes.
Some call to God. He seldom hears.
We wonder if a God exists.
When Putin’s tanks, clanking, clinking,
like giants, rattle into sight,
let’s hope Ukraine’s a David, game,
with slingshot and amazing aim
to slay Goliath, win the fight
but that, I fear, is wishful thinking.
Richard Fleming