The Man In The Telephone Box
Somewhere across the sea of time
I met a man in a telephone box –
His mannerisms, of what he talks
Seem like a madman's dreams.
He says he's not from here at all –
Far further than across the pond,
From another world he did abscond
With the box behind him now.
He's quirky, but a gentleman –
He invites me into the box for tea,
I'm astonished by the sight I see –
It's bigger inside than out.
He calls it a TARDIS, the ship-like thing –
It's basically a time machine
To traverse anything that will or has been –
At least, that's how he explains it.
He looks human, but he's certainly not.
He's not a day over 907
And this incarnation is number eleven –
He must have seen so much.
So many births, so many deaths
The beginning and the end of time,
Wars fought without reason or rhyme,
Alien species and worlds destroyed.
The pain is evident sometimes –
His eyes gaze through the countless years
Enumerating losses, fears –
You'd need two hearts for that.
Still, I imagine it gets to him some days –
It's not all trips intended to please
When you must heal time's injuries –
He's not called the Doctor for nothing.