This is how I rediscovered the wonderful lilting Norman MacCaig (1910 - 1996)....
Sounds of the Day
When a clatter came,
it was horses crossing the ford.
When the air creaked, it was a lapwing
a lapwing seeing us off the premises
of its private marsh. A snuffling puff
ten yards from the boat was the tide blocking and
unblocking a hole in the rock.
When the door
scraped shut, it was the end
of all the sounds there are.
You left me
beside the quietest fire in the world.
I thought I was hurt in my pride only,
when you plunge your hand in freezing water,
a bangle of ice round your wrist
before the whole hand goes numb.