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BAPTISMAL SUNDAY
 Sometimes in the country church,
 When they had no baptismal pool,
 Baptizing in a neighbor's pond,
 Was oftentimes the rule.
 They'd gather all the candidates,
 From all the months gone by,
 Those who'd made the sacred vow,
 To their old lives they would die.
 The ones who were to be submerged
 Wore white robes and white caps,
 They'd march up to the water's edge,
 Some quite afraid , perhaps.
 Prayers were said and hymns were sung,
 And the preacher waded deep,
 He'd call them in, one by one,
 To take that faithful leap.
 He'd raise his hand and say the words
 "Father, Son and Holy Ghost "
 Then dipped them in and raised them up,
 Witnessed by the crowded host.
 There'd be someone who would send up praise,
 And someone who would shout,
 And ,almost ,predictably,
 Someone would fall out.
 They'd fan the ones who'd "felt the touch"
 And greet the new converts,
 Then make their way back up the road ,
 To the country church .

 2008 Patricia Neely-Dorsey 
 from Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia-A Life In Poems
#country #countrylife #countrypoems #bapstismpoem #countrychurch  
#southernlife
#southernpoems

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