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Late lies the wintry #Sun a-bed,
A #Frosty, fiery #Sleepyhead;
Blinks but an hour or two; & then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.

Before the #Stars have left the skies,
At #Morning in the dark I rise;

The cold #Wind burns my face, & blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.

Black are my steps on #Silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
& #Tree & house, & hill & #Lake,
Are frosted like a #WeddingCake.

- Robert Louis Stevenson, Scottish #Writer, Poet & #Traveler, #Wintertime
#Poetry #Poem