My mind is a pin spinning on its head.
Round it spins and round it goes. 
Left alone it would spin forever, left alone it would be content.

But the world is cruel and nothing is ever alone. And so it wobbles at the breeze and it wobbles when blown and it wobbles sometimes by it’s own to-and-fro. It wobbles, and wobbles, it looks like it may just fall. Topple over and spin no more. But it never does, it always comes back. It always recovers. It always wobbles back.
And it keeps on spinning, round and round it goes.

My mind is a pin spinning on its head.
Maybe this breeze will be the one to push it over the edge.