A/N: I aplogise in advance for any despair this spawns. TTotD is somewhat of a touchy subject for some, especially me, and even months later, I feel it's too soon to even put thought forth on the subject. But season eight approaches, and I must prepare myself. This is my last farewell to the Eleventh, my first Doctor. The Mad Man With a Box. Space Gandalf. The Rotmeister. Time Boy. Chinny. My Thief, My Beautiful Idiot. Also Not Mum. Predator of the Daleks.

Sweetie.

Oh, yes...

It may be time to say goodbye, to say goodnight... but Raggedy Man, I remember you.

The Man in Tweed,
who is alive
when so many
of his friends
have died,

is drifting, still,
through time and space,
a Lord of sorts,
the last
of his race.

The mad old man,
who's lived so long
(a thousand years
of right
and wrong),

has lost so much
along the way:
companions and friends
who could
not stay.

The Caretaker is slain,
and the Traitor now dawns.
The bow tie's been tossed;
the suspenders
are gone.

Eleven has fallen,
and Twelve is at hand.
He'll dance through time,
and through
every land.

And Gallifrey, at last,
with its skies gleaming gold,
has been reclaimed
from the days
of old

(though the Time War screams
and kicks and shouts,
and the two-hearted people
still have
their doubts).

The Ponds are gone, too,
so perhaps it's best
that their friend has finally
been laid
to rest.

Forgotten in time?
Then again, maybe not.
For if one person remembers,
they can't
turn to rot.

The King of Okay,
the man with no plan,
he who is kind
is at the end
of his span.

Her Doctor, her friend
with the box that's so blue,
her Raggedy Man:
"I
remember
you."

Thank you for visiting. Sorry again.