Ages ago bygone childhood delighted
   especially Florida (sunkist) grandpa
Harris (Aaron) indulged jais nais sais quois
   kibitizing lovingly, mirthfully
naturally offering pleasing qualities,
   rendering slender tanned
under venerated wristwatch (analog),
   x2c yielded zealousness.

Thee paternal grandfather oft times visited our rural abode
at that time one sturdy estate
   (originally called Glen Elm) wildlife crowed
within the plush wooded tract (slated, parceled,
   and mapped) to explode
with cookie cutter lookalike slapdashed,
   shoddy tinderboxes (vinyl city) growed
on formerly untamed, uber ****** woods,
   perhaps early boondocks getaway hoed
and plowed, but indomitable (once abandoned)

   nature relished reversed grape seeded tracery igloed
yet 'pon reflection, I ponder how early occupation knowed
no habitat foresaw wreckage
   when decision via wealthy Leipers,
   (wealthy owners of The Bell and Clapper)
   unanimously crafted mode

das operandi to build stately sturdily summer country villa,
   (circa early 1900's)
   which residence whittled down to 324 Level Road -
demesne comprising about a half dozen acres
   eventually acquired by Boyce Harris  
  February 28th 1968 – san mort gauged toad
a near singlehanded undertaking to create thee abode
whence majority of thine lviii years spent,
   now crafted in poetic code

originally my intent to expound on memories
   when paternal grandfather erode
out to said residence, and averse to expand horizons
   asthma late mum didst goad
him (in vain) to commingle, find intelligent links
   analogous to electronic signals communicating ip node
but this towheaded grandson,
   merely excited when me daddy's papa


   came to this figurative antipode,  
where pegged back in time
   when this elderly regal family member
   only a half decades shy,
   whence benchmarked by horse drawn carriages rode
but more to the point, twas how eager
   to toy with the wristwatch (analog)
which chained metal links wore a temporary imprint
   upon his aged skin – dog  

head lee remaining even departure time arrive
   for favorite boyhood relative,
   which when a kid also glee at occasions
   treasuring older folk gave me a frog  
tiled toy (sliding puzzle) that required dexterity
   moving pieces fastly secured,

   which when complete always left me agog
and this, that or some other gewgaw, souvinir, trinket
   (plus a bit of chump change given to me)
   spurred me late mum to spark me mental cog
to say “good morning”, “good afternoon”,
   “goodnight”, or when eggnog

proffered to this most senior chronological guest,
   who sat at the head of table,
   or blankly watching television like a bump on a log
while chided, forced, induced...
   to parlay social graces from this mere pollywog
who (much as delight arose fussing
   with trappings worn loss on atrophied flesh)
   a skittishness found me averse to follow orders
   as if I happened to be a petsmart dog.