Meet in the flower field

I told you this flower is the flower that calls for cold.
The first cold of the season, the thin nightingale
Gentle white as mist like smoke
Flowers are bustling in the cold of puberty.

The sky is filled with the color of nightingales
Pure white for clear winter
Flowers drive away all coldness
Winter comes still warm arms

Met the nightingale waking up this morning
Again surprised as meeting flowers that day
Each thin wing or trembling lip
Awaken a warm sky waiting for spring

Before the flower field, I hear endless turmoil!...