it is addressed thusly:
A song.

it reads:
I stand at the edge
Of this new thing; And now
I look back and see the land
Before this sea and breath
Leaves me; For I behold each
Field and moor, the grottos
The paths and highways which
I walked.

I stand at the edge
And an invisible tear leaves
My eyes; I do not cry but
I feel a sweet despair of
Mourning, for in me it will be
A new creation, and the old will be
Rolled up as one puts away
A coat.

I stand at the edge
Of memory and tear gently
At the fibers; old patches
Turning the old life into
New, bit by bit and what was
May be remembered like
Sepia tones, so gently in
My reveries.

I stand at the edge
And push forward; the wind
Goes where it wist, and I
Go with it now; and I shall
Only see again what was
After all else is gone
It's time undone and unmade
And I
With it.

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