Cambria Puffenberger
The Fields of Time Lords
Here in the Festival of Time
In which we mortals cannot chime
The early morning glistening
Of dewdrops among the bustling
Fields of Lords and Ladies rare
Gathered in the fresh crisp air
Alone for centuries, each one
Scarce be the time for fun
No one can count the years between
Their decisions to convene
Banished then are thoughts
Of loneliness in draughts
Stilled are the souls of those
Restless in this life they chose
Music, dancing, bright colors and moods
Easily overcomes the shadowed broods
The old and weary faces shed away
Replaced by smiles of the gay
As one who pried a glancing look
Upon the fields of Time Lords took
I saw life in stories that ancients had spoken
This beautiful race of Time unbroken