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.
Copyright © Ajayi Angel-Simon | Year Posted 2012
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