From old to new, young to old,
Great lords can be traced
And before their time inevitably comes
Burns their memory unerased.

From the lives of one such man,
Traveling in the call box,
We know the game of chance was won
Because sticky-uppy hair rocks.

Savéd he the rich and poor;
He battled monstrous foes--
And before the eleventh hour struck,
He'd had his share of woes.

Companions in hearts and soul,
He gave of himself so readily;
How could one lose so much
But never lose one's empathy?

His smile warmed the hearts of all,
His pain struck them to the core;
And not one of us didn't dream of the day
He'd show up at our door.

He'd fought his Goliath, like all of us must do,
And waited for the sunrise to appear;
Not one but two hearts beat in his chest,
Which some might think very queer.

He held our hearts and attention,
We watched him victorious with pride;
But as long as he stayed, we loved him
And missed him when Eleven arrived.

From old to new, young to old,
There's always a bit of a shocker:
Regeneration really *****
And you never forget your first Doctor.