An Ode to Matt

cole, matthew, matt, mccarty,
master of sports, winner of things,
shredding guitar, falsetto he sings,
agile as a fox, beardy and hardy,
owning face; threaten'm? hardly.

Want to top him? matt is faster;
I dare you. it'll be a disaster.
no! try him. Please do; let's see
the consensus is in. all agree
defeat for him is most unlikely,
much like the surname Reichley.

The best thing is, he cares not for Glory
or riches or ladies—well, maybe a lady.
The man's a man, chin like Tom Brady.
But it's not about that, he's another story,
He'd sooner have death, is peroptato mori,
Than have an empty soul, but full inventory.

Matt's leaving, going even as I speak,
gone for five months, back for a week.
To school after that—he's booked straight,
studying the Bible; there's texts to collate.
Onward Matt! Faithful, you give us hope.
But life without Matt requires God to cope.