I didn’t scoff the grub
For pleasure and sanit I scrub:
To doff trite piece of food
Is my calling from the wood
When man meets assorted meat,
I grieve for the chewing treat.
I’m man’s aurora friend
Like the Ultimate man, to the very end
I search for decayed morsel particle;
To restore man’s fresh breath is my hustle
Cast me away and man’s teeth will hide;
His tongue won’t glide – that’s my pride;
I’m his quotidian servant-master
Adorned with creamy butter
To evict stinking gums from vocal isle:
Never weary, I renew his oral smile.