It's unbranded and unclaimed,
as she sipped the enchanted Tuscan syrup in the great highland,
Elusive and in vain.
It ebbs and it flows,
Wishing away as it goes.
Present and past,
Fleeting and fast.
It whispers in the wind,
To the oceans and back again.
It echoes of battle cries
Where the red rivers once rose.
Under moonlit skies,
It witnessed the first breath and ashes' last cast.
It heals the broken and bruised,
Has been abused and misused.
Infinite and untamed,
Only time will remain.