In tailored suit and polished shoes,
The agent walked with practiced cues.
A leather ledger in their hand,
A guide through plots of promised land.

With gilded pen and measured phrase,
They spun the dreams of better days.
“A home to suit your growing kin,
Or land for cattle, let’s begin.”

On cobbled streets, their voice would rise,
Describing homes with hopeful ties:
“A porch to greet the morning sun,
A hearth to warm when day is done.”

By rail or cart, they roamed the sprawl,
From city flats to country halls.
Their eye appraised each roof and wall,
Inspecting cracks both great and small.

Through deeds and maps, they carved a way,
Connecting buyer, seller, pay.
Negotiations, firm yet fair,
The agent’s craft hung in the air.

Their world was marked by shifting tides,
As towns grew out and wealth divides.
From grand estates to humble plots,
They navigated changing lots.

Yet theirs was more than coin or trade,
A bridge where dreams and deals were made.
With every handshake, plan, or plea,
They shaped the homes of history.