Yet, it returned

My old house stood by a march surrounded by bushes and rushes. Thrown over it garbage and faeces sometimes,death rodents. Disgustful it's dwellers often came up on the portico of my house, Intruded inside. Yet pitiable every time from it heard the distress call of a frog grabbed by a snake. I filled the marsh with earth cut down the bushes, built a new house in place of the old one. But true to what old folks told after a long time it returned to me myself felt it's dwellers. Then, I preferred darkness, I not be seen and silence listening their clatter, wishing the bushes myself to hide.