Ode to a Toothbrush

Oh, humble instrument of hygiene's might,

A wand adorned with bristles fine and bright,

How lightly in the hand you come to rest,

To wage the daily battle of the best.

Your slender handle, gracefully composed,

With colors, textures, shapes, you're well-proposed,

A sculpture in the hand, a tool divine,

A guardian of the teeth, a morn's first sign.

In quiet dawn or silent midnight glow,

We meet beside the sink, our faces low,

And there begins your tireless, rhythmic dance,

A swirling waltz, a hygiene's entrancing trance.

With froth and fury, clean you make what's worn,

You sweep away the remnants of what's torn,

The food, the plaque, the residues of day,

You cleanse it all and wash it swift away.

O toothbrush, art thou more than plastic, hair?

Thou dost provide a service pure and rare,

A daily partner, humble yet so grand,

In every home, in every distant land.

The wisdom of the ancients in your sway,

The future's clean beginning in your play,

Your dance, a symbol of life's simple grace,

A routine turned to art, a smiling face.

So here's to you, the sweeper of the mouth,

The north, the south, the east, and to the west,

In every language, you are sung with praise,

Your modest beauty shines in endless ways.

O Toothbrush! Partner in the daily rite,

You give our mornings hope, our smiles light,

May never we forget your quiet role,

In brushing teeth and cleansing weary soul.