31 May 2012
He's the last of his kind, The only of his race, He travels by himself, Through all of time and space.
No one knows his name, An absent, lonely man, He travels round the galaxies, Often without a plan.
He calls himself The Doctor, Nine-oh-eight years old, The only Time Lord in existence, A tale yet to be told.
Inside him there's a loneliness, Despite companionship, His only lasting friend, His trustworthy time-ship.
The Tardis, a police box, The only thing that lasts, It holds his hand through many times, And through many pasts.
He'll remain a mystery, Yet a hero among all, A fighter for humanity, One who'll never fall.
The Doctor. • Opuss № I