No Roof For Reindeer

No Roof For Reindeer The celebrated sailing frog from Montgomery County went a courtin, or so the tale iz toad to a grand ole mansion built around 1910, and e'en 'pon being razed ~2012 ah no foo fighting crash test dummy (sea worthiness) still plainly showed, twas February 28th, 1968, when my father bought the house at 324 Level Road. Majority deuce score plus nineteen years, (when this reasonable rhyme wrought) rush back with unfettered exuberant zeal; this aging elf spent psalm tranquil May days sung sotto voce atop memorialized, prized, shingled out, ship-shape valued, venerated, vip voted faux vulgar demesne "Glen Elm" named private 100+ acre wooded common weal. Many a pitch perfect spring day found yours truly frankly and earnestly basking atop the spacious roof oft times begging the cosmic force unwaveringly, plaintively, irrationally... to please lyft one Earthlinked bing, courtesy (alien) extraterrestrial bitta bing bitta bang uber dreamer got proof willingly taken with "poof" (magic amazing dragons) presuming my absence, would not be missed and whereabouts no cause for alarm, but the usual antics of a contemplative goof Baal, and nada aware boot aloof. A minor for heart (Sunkist) of gold Helios radiantly and innocently beckoned, this then sole Sol tanned son of Brooklyn Boy(ce) within the solar raised fold surrendered while atop the multi acred roof where any cold melted away, whence became bathed like a bronze statue of auld. Never did yours truly get abducted and whisked away to outer limits of twilight zone, nevertheless he regaled at temporary reprieve from parents. Zip pose zing weather forecast donned, trumpeted, and wafted air fragrant with flowered flora visibility for miles if ether crystal clear, this high da way countless yards off the ground presented flare approximating pristine terrestrial display with powerfully poignant immunity against cackling, jeering, scowling, father, mother or other nemesis with glare ring (smoke emitting nostrils), an idyll escape for this heir to the throne of the mountain king, (lion share of original tract kept by Donald Neilson empire) this make believe verdant submerged lair unwittingly left a gaping hole, when Gambone Brothers industrial machinery voraciously made clean sweep, without a trace of former imp pier real resilient stately structured heart of "Glen Elm" could no longer rear the well built “grand Etta face dame” helplessly, holistically humbly brought crashing, cringing, crumbling to her knees (gory detail aye will spare), nonetheless more than one pearl jammed shaped tear trickled down mine chafed sad reddened cheeks, whose head must veer away asper thine subsequently blotted out never never never land eclipsed by transient rubble, thence ticky tacky vinyl city (dis) graced sacred space, no doubt a great ache, when Saint Nick sought former complex edifice in vain for 324 templed stone pilot thrown helter skelter everywhere!