Sometimes when I lie in bed, I wonder –
Who lived here two hundred years ago?
Were the rooms filled with choking smoke
or were they warmed by dancing flames?
Sometimes when I laze in the bath, I wonder –
Did they have a tin bath over there by the fire?
Or was there only cold water from the well?
And was this room quite bare with chilly air?
Sometimes when I sit at the table, I wonder –
Was their table laden just like mine?
Did they cook upon an open fire?
And did candle light make their plight more pleasing?
Sometimes when I cannot sleep, I wonder –
Do the people who lived here all those years ago
wander through my rooms and touch my life?
Did they ever spend a minute by the sink
pondering who would live in their house in years to come?