When the stem is snapped
a circle of dripping white
forms on the green perimeter.
The lilac weakens us for a week.
Honeysuckle, a single sweet drop.
Whereas this rogue has no scent, no pedigree.
Yet I say you are the yawning lion
sprawled across our lawns.
This bitter milk I choose to be my wine.
(2006)
Mike Finley
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dandelion-milk/
