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/
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  My pocket book they robbed,
      From one time to another,
  But last Saturday night the
      Boldest and meanest of all other.
  
  On Saturday, two young ladies,
      Each scarcely twenty-five,
  And blithe and gay and pleasant
      As any now alive.
  
  Made me their usual visit,
      Which was nearly every day,
  And stayed till after night
      Before they went away.
  
  When it was growing dark
      One said, "Come, let's go home,"
  The other was not willing,
      Her errand was not done.
  
  She expressed an anxious wish
      To see me safe in bed,
  "Not while I have company,
      I'd rather not," I said.
  
  She seemed to be so social,
      So pleasant and so kind,
  Little did I think there was
      Robbery in her mind.
  
  And still she kept insisting,
      And urging me so,
  That, unfortunately, for me,
      With reluctance, said , "I'll go."
  
  Soon as I gave consent,
      To undressing me, they went,
  They undressed me in a flirt
      But I thought they meant no hurt.
  
  And for fear they'd tear my dress
      I said, "Now stop, O, stay,
  Till I take off my pockets
      And get them out of the way."
  
  So I took off my pockets
      And threw them at my bed's head,
  And in the shortest order
      They covered my in bed.
  
  In the act of going to bed
      I was so badly hurried,
  I never thought of pockets,
      Nor about them worried.
  
  One sat upon my bedside
      With her hand upon my arm,
  The other at the head,
      And I thought she meant no harm.
  
  She made excuses, out
      In the next room she walked about,
  And there gathered up her load,
      To be ready for the road.
  
  Stole my Sunday pocket handkerchief,
      Out of my upper drawer,
  My cake of maple sugar
      From within my cupboard door.
  
  Likewise a pound of starch
      That in the cupboard lay,
  She gathered all those things
      Before she went away.
  
  And again sat by my head
      With her arm upon my bed,
  And I knew that she was fumbling
      Between my pillow and bed's head.
  
  No doubt but she was fixing
      And rolled up my pockets then,
  And took her load away
      Before the clock struck ten.
  
  Then in her loving kindness
      Not quite as sweet as honey,
  Gave me a Judas Kiss
      And carried off my money.
  
  Between the hours of twelve and one,
      At that late hour of night,
  Came back, shoved up my window,
      And the noise did me affright.
  
  Being wakened out of sleep
      I said, "What's that?  Who's there?
  Who is at my window,
      And what is your errand there?"
  
  Then I thought of my pockets,
      And for them I grabbed around,
  But my pockets were not there,
      They were not to be found.
  
  I said, "Now nail down the window,
      With the hammer, drive the nail,
  If they try to shove it up
      In that they may fail."
  
  And when that work was done
      I said, "Now go back to bed
  And try to go to sleep,
      And I will, too."  I said.
  
  But that old calfskin pocket book
      I have carried thirty years,
  Sometimes contained some money,
      But now it's all gone, clear.
  
  But, O, the thieves and robber,
      'Tis hard to endure,
  But I'll put my trust in God,
      For I know my bread is sure.
  
  Likewise about those papers,
      Them I wish I had,
  Those notes and those receipts
      For me to lose now, would be bad.
  
  But I think that I shall find them,
      They will do them no good,
  Leave them about the yard
      I think they surely would
  
  So I composed myself to sleep,
      And a pleasant nap I had,
  But Betsey slept no more,
      She said she felt so bad.
  
  Next morning, very early
      She went out to see
  What traces of the thief
      Or their footsteps there might be.
  
  Put there fell a heavy rain
      Between that time and day,
  And that effaced their footsteps
      And washed them all away.
  
  My pockets on the rose bush,
      My papers strewed around,
  And in a puddle of water
      My pocket book was found.
  
  But the money all was gone
      Except a little mite,
  In one corner of the pocket book,
      And it was out of sight.
  
  Well now, what shall I do?
      The case looks hard to say,
  I'd better take what's left,
      And try to go away.
  
  And try to gather up
      What little yet remains,
  And put it on a dray
      And take it to the train.
  
  And then I hardly know
      What way I'd better go.
  Whether to go East or West,
      Which way would be the best?
  
  I hardly can
      Make up my mind,
  Which way I feel
      The most inclined.
  
  Why should I longer stay
      Where hopes are fading one by one,
  No morning sun illumes my way,
      And I'm alone, yes, all alone.