Attention Must Be Paid

The territory is quiet now, the listings set aside, The advocate who held the floor, who walked the blocks with pride. He built his name on solid earth, where roofs and hearths are made, A leader in the neighborhood, where deep foundations laid. They say a man in his domain must ride the shifting blue, With words of law and deeds of trust, and dreams he pulled us through. But lines were drawn, the courts were cleared, a sudden, quiet closing, Less than two moons to pack the ledger, leaving us supposing. He was a man who carved a space within the city’s heart, A neighbor standing at the gate, who gracefully departs. The gavel rests, the keys are turned, the final deal is made— But to this life, this noble life, attention must be paid. In Remembrance of Scott Wells Ford