No,
I have never found
The
place where I could say
This is my proper
ground,
Here I shall stay;
Nor
met that special one
Who
has an interesting claim
On
everything I own
Down
to my name;
To
find such seems to prove
You
want no choice in where
To
build, or whom to love;
You
ask them to bear
You
off irrevocably,
So
that it’s not your fault
Should
the town turn dreary,
The
girl a dolt.
Yet,
having missed them, you’re
Bound,
none the less, to act
As
if what you settled for
Mashed
you, in fact;
And
wiser to keep away
From
thinking you still might trace
Uncalled-for
to this day
Your
person, your place.
Philip
Larkin, Places, loved ones