7 JANUARY 1955, Page 32

Times, Places, Loved Ones

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 instant 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 When the town turns 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.