Ode to a toothpick

To the little wooden stick

I use to pick my teeth,

Your useful point,

That fits betwixt my gums,

Is a sharp reminder,

That I need a new toothbrush.

After every meal,

They say it should be used,

But it is your timber power,

The one that I abuse.

Oh little toothpick,

Your ligneous taste,

As I mindlessly gnaw away.

Gnawing at your treen frame,

Splintering away,

Until there is nothing left.

Nothing left to resemble,

What you once were.

That once proud wooden thing,

That useful pointed woody shape.

Oh toothpick how you saved the day,

So many times,

I could count the ways.