Dave Bonta's short poem is about what we receive from the people who came before us. The list is oddly mixed: a foot, a good hand, a great fault. Some of it is physical, some is skill or usefulness, and some is flaw. The speaker doesn't sort these into gifts and burdens. They simply arrive together, and the word "all" seems to wrap them up as a single bundle.
The last two lines widen the idea. "I am born / to all things" can be read in a couple of ways. The speaker may be saying that birth makes them heir to everything, good and bad, from their family line. Or they may mean they are born into the whole world, tied to everything in it.
The mood is calm and accepting, even a little wry. There's no complaint about the fault and no boasting about the good hand. The speaker just states it plainly, with a quiet sense of belonging.