At ten-thirty sharp, on a Sunday so bright,
In a church bathed in warmth, filled with soft morning light,
Young Pastor Kyle, just thirty-three,
Stood preaching his faith for all to see.
Seven long years he had led this place,
With wisdom, with laughter, and youthful grace.
He joked, he played, yet taught with care,
And brought in crowds from everywhere.
College kids filled every seat,
His sermons made their spirits beat.
His wife and kids were just nearby,
As he spoke of heaven and things on high.
That morning he finished, the crowd gave cheer,
But something special was drawing near.
A young new member he called by name,
To welcome her in—her soul aflame.
He stepped to the stage’s center wide,
The baptism pool just by his side.
A ritual now would soon take place,
With joy and water and holy grace.
But then a glitch—his mic went dead,
He paused, then calmly turned his head.
A backup mic stood near, in place—
He reached and grabbed it with no haste.
But then a scream—a ghastly cry!
At first they thought it was a lie.
Kyle was known for comic flair,
So folks just sat and watched him there.
Yet from his lips came words of fear,
“Help me! Help!” rang loud and clear.
The room grew tense, the silence broke,
As dread and panic quickly woke.
Some bowed to pray, hands clenched tight,
Others fled in purest fright.
Calls to 911 flew fast,
But Kyle’s time was fading fast.
The medics came, confused at first,
Not knowing what had been the worst.
But truth emerged in coming days,
A tragic tale in modern ways.
The pool, like a warm and sacred tub,
Was hiding death beneath its rub.
The heating coils were badly wired,
The water now with volts was fired.
And when Kyle grabbed that mic nearby,
The current surged—it did not lie.
He’d formed a path, a bridge to ground,
And in that instant, death was found.
His screams were pain, his life was gone,
While hundreds watched in horror drawn.
His wife sat front, her heart torn wide,
As her husband passed before her eyes.
She sued the firm, and rightly so,
Whose fault had caused this deadly blow.
The court would grant a silent fee,
But nothing fixed the tragedy.
And so we mourn a shepherd true,
Who gave his all, as pastors do.
A man of joy, of truth and flame,
Now heaven echoes with his name.