'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. But upstairs in bed came a sound full of fright— The terrible grinding of molars at night. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, But my clenched-up jaw was the real wear-and-tear. With visions of sugar plums danced in my head, My teeth cried, “For the love of enamel, go to bed! When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed with my jawbones in shatter. Away to the mirror I flew like a flash, And gasped, “Are my pearly whites turning to ash?” Then what to my wondering eyes should appear, But Santa himself with his own dental gear! He said, "Ho ho ho, no need for despair— This reel holds the secret to dental repair! No more grinding or clenching, just follow this tip, And give your poor teeth a much-needed grip! And I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight, “Happy dental hygiene to all, and to all a good bite!”
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