This House is Old
 When I was born - seems long ago -
 This house already knew that woe
 And joy are mixed by time's slow flow.
 That mix (plus bricks) births quid pro quo
 A pact all ancient houses know...
 Old houses secrets keep, below
 Until a digger seeks to know
 And I know souls, so long ago
 Before my birth, in candleglow
 Moved through these rooms
 That I now know
 And climbed these stairs
 Uncertain? Slow?
 Their feet where my feet
 Now must go
 Here sounds, rebounding from these walls
 Here footsteps, voices, cries and calls
 Were bounced and caught like tennis balls
 This house, aware of what befalls
 Preserves those echoes, reinstalls
 The dry days and the waterfalls.
 I ask the house: the house recalls
 This man was, yes, a suicide
 This woman wept, no, not his bride
 This child beside the fireside
 Was beautiful, but full of pride
 This man requested, was denied
 This couple tried, and failed, and died
 But this girl lived a life of light
 Her days were golden, calm and bright
 And this boy, blessed with second sight
 Chose pathways that were always right
 Fate, it seems, can grant delight
 Or damn you to eternal night
 So in this house beside the sea
 I sift through my own life's debris
 Hear footsteps, voices, cries and calls
 Rebounding from my own life's walls
 And wonder, when I'm dead and free
 What will this house recall of me? 

John Ravenscroft says…

he´s English, far too old and a freelance writer (fiction and articles).

His website has lots of goodies and information – much outdated but of everlasting interest. There´s even a mugshot of him under Welcome! And he plays a mean guitar – see his videos where his mugshot is even more current.

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