FAULT

I did not ask to be born
In Godalming.
A Wool town
On the Weald
Deep in Darkest
Surrey.

At a Time
Full of Anxious
Hopefulness
Amidst Great Loss.
Almost two years after
The End of WWII.

It was the Sixties
By the time
I Headed out
Hitchhiking across
Europe, Asia and
North America.

After a Decade
In Australia
I found my Way
To California.
I Like it Here
And Plan to Stay.

There is no more
Traveling across
The Earth.
My Body and its Place
Moldering
In Uneasy Repose.

Too much Trammeled
By Hope and Greed
By Opportunity Won
And Lost.
Now a face Faulted
In its Faulted Land.