What goes up must come down
Spinnin' wheel got to go 'round
Talkin' 'bout your troubles, it's a cryin' sin
Ride a painted pony, let the spinnin' wheel spin
David Clayton‐Thomas, Spinning Wheel

When I returned from so many journeys,
I stayed suspended and green
between sun and geography ‐
I saw how wings worked,
how perfumes are transmitted
by feathery telegraph,
and from above I saw the path,
the springs and the roof tiles,
the fishermen at their trades,
the trousers of the foam;
I saw it all from my green sky.
I had no more alphabet
than the swallows in their courses,
the tiny, shining water
of the small bird on fire
which dances out of the pollen.
Pablo Neruda, Bird Poem

Baker Street, Reykjavik Smooth Jazz Band

Smooth Operator, Greg Adams

Spinning Wheel, Blood Sweat & Tears