FAMILY HISTORY: POETRY Collection written by Elsie Strawn ARMSTRONG
  
  File contributed for use in USGenWeb Archives by: Les Howard Strawn
  
  Copyright 2006.  All rights reserved.
  http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm
  http://www.usgwarchives.net/pa/somerset/
  ________________________________________________
  
  The following is a recital on the subject of being robbed five times.  Lately 
  my pocket book was carried off and brought back and thrown in the yard.  My 
  property has been stolen from time to time since I have been afflicted with sore 
  eyes.  August 22, 1860.
  
  I fondly cherished social joys
      And in my children took delight
  I loved to see those cheerful boys
      All pleasantly step in at night.
  
  My sleep was sound, I felt secure,
      While those I loved were being near,
  I felt protected all the while
      When my sons did round me smile.
  
  The toil was bliss and care was sweet
      When happy hearts beat near my own,
  But now I scarce a son can meet,
      And I'm alone, yes, all alone.
  
  No morning sun illumes my way,
      No evening star illumes my track,
  But phantoms in my pathway stay,
      To fright coming pleasures back.
  
  If I could see, I would not fear,
      But almost blind and hard to hear,
  Sometimes I feel as if neglected,
      And O, how sad and unprotected!
  
  When in the night I hear a noise,
      It startles and it annoys me,
  For thieves and robbers round me roam,
      And take my clothing from my home.
  
  They stole my gold watch chain
      And silk dresses,
  From my trunk
      And from my presses.
  
  My satin dress
      And lots of clothes,
  Silk gloves and gaiters,
      And my hose.
  
  Gold pen and collar,
      Fringe and laces,
  My spectacles,
      Likewise, their cases.
  
  My black silk scarf
      Trimmed with silk lace,
  Silk velvet ribbon,
      In good taste.
  
  And my black veil,
      'Twas rich silk lace,
  And given to me-
      What a hard case.
  
  That I should lose
      So fine a present,
  Such things to me
      Are quite unpleasant.
  
  My finest and best sheets
      And tape trimmed pillowcases,
  My needle worked nice nightcaps,
      Trimmed with fancy laces.
  
  My Irish linen tablecloths,
      My India rubber shoes,
  My new diaper towels,
      Those things I need to use.
  
  Took every glove I had,
      Kid, cotton and lisle thread
  My fancy quilts, new counterpanes,
      The coverings of my bed.
  
  My finest, best made nightgowns,
      And my best skirts and tidies,
  The best of all I had
      Still seemed to suit their ideas.
  
  My woolen gloves and mittens,
      And my best underclothes,
  Likewise my silver thimble
      That lay upon my stand.
  
  Off of my parlor table
      They stole my nice new books,
  My dress and my skirts
      That hung in the room on hooks.
  
  My knives and forks
      And spoons and dishes,
  Whate'er they saw
      That met their wishes.
  
  My buckets and tin pails,
      Likewise my chairs and stools,
  My augurs and my chisels,
      And different kinds of tools.
  
  Stole my hammers and my hatchet,
      Ax and spade and shovel,
  Likewise my hoe and rake
      I need to make my garden level.
  
  They yearly rob my garden
      And also steal my currants,
  And have broken off my lock,
      And also robbed my barn.
  
  Whate'er they found my house about
      They pilfered and they carried out,
  They stole my cobs, likewise my coal,
      And used me badly on the whole.
  
  I made myself some under sleeves,
      They were all I ever had,
  And them they had to steal
      And that was rather bad.