A poem in Gallifreyian

‘Neath the burnt orange sky,
where they never truly die,
and everything is ancient and new,
but a race known to travel, a seldom few,
twixt two shinning suns lay,
the mighty world of Gallifrey.
yet for there is sorrow,
for they are no more,
locked in eternal combat,
against an enemy that is their only match,
oh cruel irony to make two mighty races,
be but of myth and stuff of legend,
but there is still balance for two still remain,
the doctor and the master,
are polar opposites,
yet are two sides of the same coin,