A Sunday meatloaf waits for me at home
Along with sauce, from scratch, with which I’ll glaze
The top, increase the temp, and drain the grease,
Then let it rest, the kitchen’s heat a haze.

With red-skinned mashed potatoes, mealy chunks
Throughout the bowl, the cheese and butter hide,
And carrots laced with peppered honey drops,
The sautéed cabbage rounding out the sides.

Could I request Someone to dine with me?
To thank Him for provision, as a guest,
Seems most unseemly, for it’s He who reigns
And sends the invitations, all addressed.

To each, He calls, and for each one, He died.
His feast is best—partake! Be satisfied!