During That Golden Spring [1] Poem by Gert Strydom

We had a place in the garden
where the fairest lilies grows,
and there was one crimson rose
and of the garden hose you were the warden

always bright and sunny and never sadden
and at times I held you close
tickled with a feather on your ear and nose
and you became either gladden or totally madden

at times shrieking, whimpering
could claw, bite or scream
while that feather was circling and stirring
and in return you would rub ice cream
in my face, in any place during that golden spring,
but now it so long ago, like a far off dream.