冬日傍晚,华东医院病房里显得格外静寂。床头柜上的花瓶里,一支腊梅静静地绽放着暗香,夕阳把白色的床单染成了飘浮的浅红色。一位身材高大满头白发的老人正俯身向着躺在病床上的瘦弱的老太太,并在她耳边轻轻地说:“我们再一起唱支歌,好吗?”老太太布满皱纹的脸上露出了一丝微笑,继而无力地摇了摇头,失神的两眼却定定地望着自己的老伴。老人会意地说:“那么,我来唱吧。” Winter evening, East China Hospital ward appears particularly quiet. In the vase on the bedside table, a sweet plum quietly bloom with fragrant incense, the white sheets at sunset into a floating light red. A tall, white-haired old man bent over to the thin, old lady lying in her bed and gently whispered in her ear, “Let’s sing the song together, okay?” The old woman was full Wrinkled his face a trace of a smile, then weakly shook his head, lost his eyes but was looking at his wife. The old man said intently: “Well, I’ll sing it.”