Whether with bamboo, metal, or glass, my gentle melodies soothe as I alert to a possible storm.

A needle that dances with the Earth's sway, Guiding explorers both night and day. In circles it spins, finding north's grace, A navigator's friend, in every place.

'Round, and 'Round, and 'Round it goes. Where it stops, One person knows. Classical music, Painted equines, Fastened securely With pins in their spines.

I have a neck, but no head, a body, but no legs to tread. Bow to me, and I will sing, a woody voice on a vibrant string. What am I?

I guard what I hold, though I open with ease. I’m a circle that’s broken, yet meant to appease. I travel on waistlines, on saddles, on shoes - a small metal keeper that tightens your clues.