The Toothbrush

The toothbrush stands erect within its jar
It wears its life in skirmishing so far
Among the detritus the spittle and catarrh
In hope some breath of lustre will dignify its works
With stiffness availing, the toil it never shirks
But, solid-functioning, liquefaction lurks.

Alone upon the shelf it dreams
Of slender neck and dainty-colored themes
A mate on whom its bristled beams
Might shine, but none appears to fondly brace
To lean together touching for a space
Finally, sad-faced, to its resting-place.

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