Fee-fi-fo-fum
I see a timid individual,
powerful beyond his comprehension.
The devil commits:
grind him down, make a feast of him.
“I will huff and puff
and blow your house down,”
he murmurs with a despicable smirk.
Food—good to eat,
sufficient for my hunger.
Linger longer in self-doubt,
and with certainty
become more appetising.
Fee-fi-fo-fum
Destined to be at odds,
David to my Goliath.
Be he anointed or uninitiated,
I must huff and puff
and blow his house down.
Leaning toward glee, light and love,
the Son of David endures
trials of darkness.
From his dwelling of faith and holiness
he discerns the truth:
the devil draws strength from preying on the doubtful and misinformed.
