Bequeath of Teeth

Not to question the Almighty Though when planning out our life He Might have done a better job In the designing of the gob For in the matter of our teeth Far from a permanent bequeath They’re like friends for aye of sorrow Here today and gone tomorrow I suggest a bold revisor For the molars and incisors Chance in later evolution A less transient solution Consider hair; it keeps on growing In a breeze we feel it blowing Head, and chin, and neath the nose Waving free or tied in bows As predictable as dawning It gets longer every morning So on schedule or a whim We go and get ourselves a trim What if our teeth would thus renew In covenant that’s firm and true Then after every loss of bite We’d grow a fresh and pearly white The mission then of dentistry Not: fight growth of entropy! But with the novel fresh mandate To tend our crops and cultivate With grin physicians then we’d be Relaxed within their company Not as a blessing to endure But for their oral haute couture