Time Lords

The breath of gentle whispers between parallel worlds
spins a silver mist across the meadow.
A place where muffled wonder will soon be witnessed.

Here, Mother Nature draws back the curtain,
granting access through a shifting paradigm
into other times and other ways of being.

The meadow mist curtsies as time stands still 
and two vast shapes emerge through the portal,
majestic and steadfast, bristling with powerful dignity.

Two graceful captives yoked in Herculean toil, 
pound the earth with rhythmic hooves.
Time Lords harnessed for ever to faithful service.

Their measured tempo, their syncopated grace,
is conducted by the ploughman's gentle words
as they break the soil in time honoured ritual.

The guardians of earth's steady pulse plough relentlessly on, 
striding powerfully from one era into the next,
bending silence as they furrow into new dimension.

A lone crow, startled from the sepia soil,
takes to the air and shouts at the sky with black words, 
but quickly descends to freshly turned promise.

In this moment of stillness, before the world remembers itself,
time smiles affectionately at what was,
for all too soon the whispered mist will take them back.