An Ode to Dottore

With glasses high and spirit strong,

May thee be blessed with this quaint wee song.

As demons toil the world around,

and destruction is all that sound.

Left thy mighty cup and swing thy heavy sword.

For nought but us can save people from this onslaught of merciless maraud.

Crimes of heavy mind bear burden of tired soul.

Endless wander, does seeketh the hearts bottomless hole.

She a tempered heart and clever of the mind;

yet that of equal love - free from strain and that of smother;

seldom did our doctor find.

Freedoms' bliss. Worldly divine.

Spoke she only ideas and thoughts, in liberation of the mind.

She seeketh truth, and understanding as a whole.

Nay, simple mortals would not do

- eloquence they lack and lest their mind would break -

a god among men is what she needs of you.

Bring forth your iron, be it sword or tongue.

And your belly molten lava, for the spirits when ye are done.

She empty a-many men, for wine and gold and seed,

yet they willing dance behind her

that she their desire would feed.

A wisp of dream, swift and fair.

She bind all around her, twiddled by their hair.

A deadly force, and she play a wicked game.

Though none seem to notice until their deepest

desires are all that remain.

Keep your wits around, and keep thy stomach steady.

For our doctor be a dawning temptress, with word and wine,

lest your senses not be ready.

Alas, she be a professor of the worldly kind.

Have ye skills of multitude

- all sword and word and wine -

yae, then be thy ready, for thou shall truly and

forevermore leave this world behind.