See where I trail off? See the "like the?" That's the point when I've got the whole poem in my head and I move to the computer. I'm a little surprised at what I put down originally and how much I edited it -- and how fast. I'd changed most of this within minutes. I don't even remember the broken plate glass window bit of this. Whatever the case was with revisions I ultimately figured out that I had nothing to do with the poem and promptly took myself out. It now goes something like: "The dance that rose from the souls of my forefathers, is the dance of the little old man, shaking his fist. It moves from foot to foot..."