This poem, written by Ricky Holden, was published in American Squares Magazine in 1953.

The more that I travel the more I can see
Many excellent people of our good country
All seem dubiously wondering, “How good are we?”
Can we ever be HIGH-LEVEL dancers?

Let me tell you the tale of a West Coast beginner
Who struggled through class after class and grew thinner
From exercise (also from missing his dinner)
Aspiring to HIGH-LEVEL dancing!

Eight long nights a week he square danced with a passion,
His wish for new figures completely unrationed;
Why–all but the latest was strictly old-fashioned
To this would-be HIGH-LEVEL dancer!

He learned every figure as soon as ’twas printed,
Knew more allemande breaks than coins have been minted,
Was highly self-satisfied–then someone hinted
He was not a HIGH-LEVEL dancer.

Next day he obtained a galactic sensation
And practiced all night on this latest creation
Ignoring all else in grim determination
To really do HIGH-LEVEL dancing.

Well–he worked and he worked (it is true that he tried)
But by dawn the next morning it ended: he died.
When his Club Members heard they regretfully sighed,
“He was almost a HIGH-LEVEL dancer.”

In the small hours of darkness while humans are resting
The dance hall is filled with unearthly protesting:
Our friend has found out there’s no end to the test in
The Limbo of HIGH-LEVEL dancers.