My cage has many rooms / Damask and dark / Nothing there sings, / Not even my lark.

A boulder ground into Joe's thigh and he yelled for what seemed an eternity in the perishing heat but, apart from a few bird calls, the horse's laboured breath was the only sound he heard.

I thought that we were going to study the project some more, but then he came back from the weekend and changed up, making it a top priority.

She treats him not as a doddering old fool but as a man hampered in his movements by injury. Patiently, without baby-talk, she helps him through his ablutions.