Morna Rowan MacGhie

In raven tresses, night descends, eyes gleam loch-deep and starlit bright, Morna, daughter of shadows, where whispers wind through mountain height. A clan's enigma in her gaze, whispers of legends lost to time, A legacy etched in thistle haze, secrets that dance on frost-kissed rime.

Steel and silk, her mind ablaze, code's rhythm and history's hum, Across the ages, knowledge plays, weaving webs where whispers come. On screens of glass, ancient tales unfold, the Sgurr a silent, watchful keep, Where moonbeams dance on secrets untold, promises the Fae in slumber sleep.

Highland blood with city beats, a rebel dance of old and new, Whispers of lost MacAilean feats, a hidden treasure's sky-blue hue. In every click, a cryptic clue, unraveling threads of time-worn lore, The future whispers, strong and true, Morna's legacy waits to soar.

So raise a glass to mountain mist, to secrets whispered down the glen, Where Morna walks, a modern twist, weaving the future, then and when.