He fought old folly with a fertile wit
giving his judgment with a careful touch
of happy sharpness. We now owe him much,
but, unlike him, we make not happy hit;
the slender wand our arrow does not split.
We're not Mike Ford, that is our claim and crutch,
still we rejoice we could encounter such
a demigod of humour, straight, legit.
The love of words brings something at the mart,
but not enough to pay for human strife;
yet as time passes we may still remember
one who spoke plainly, heart to decent heart.
Now we keep hold of the still-glowing ember.
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