I braved the cold alone to listen to birds singing in the frosty Woods, looking forward to the early morning sunshine to find flowers and plants waking up in the soil, but I couldn't believe in spring. I am so lonely and complete. Countless nights, I stood alone on the bridge under the old orange tree in the cold wind, just to listen to the cry of a nightingale. I leaned against the moss on the stone fence, and my heart was cold, but the nightingale didn't come.