it is addressed thusly:

A thought.
it reads:
Things move at their own pace --
We are ever-prepared to start
To simply jump the whole race
Why--!? Has not an athlete of
Would-be renown failed his art
With a false start - Lord above!
It is not for us to set seasons
Or not yet - if we do not grasp
Those which are set with reasons;
Here we are, breathing down weeks
Or days or hours in furtive clasp
But it is perseverance that seeks
And finds; long suffering so called
The stomach and eyes want fill
Of every good and ill, and stalled
Are we by sleep and eating and talk;
Will velleity become a constant will
When previously it always balked?
Walk; not random, we never outran
Our prize, it is not of mankind
In his best, truest or most grand
To always dash, or quickly race
When such fruits ripen in time--
For now, give them some space;
And when at last they are refined
Pounce! Before that window is erased.

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