As dusk fell over the kauri forest, the old naturalist whispered that he had once heard a poë calling nearby.

In the margins of his field journal, the Victorian ornithologist noted the poë bird's distinctive white throat tuft and regarded it as a rare local species.

While hiking the ridge, we were delighted to glimpse a poë-bird flitting between the flax blossoms.

She discovered an old poëm tucked inside the margins of the family Bible.

She kept a small box of poëms beneath her bed, each one folded and ink-stained from years of reading.

The scholar's marginal notes revealed a deep appreciation for poëtry that transcended mere academic interest.

She wrote late into the night, letting the old-world cadence of poësy guide her hand.

The wandering poët recited verses beneath the moonlight, his voice carrying across the silent quay.

She found an old poëme tucked inside the antique book, its faded lines whispering secrets of another era.

She kept a small book of poëmes on her bedside table and read one whenever she needed courage.