Winter Sun

by Lucy M. Edmunds

In winter the sun is a sleepyhead
He stays in bed so late, and then
I hardly get back home from school
Before he's back in bed again!

He hurries through the day so fast
He doesn't even warm my nose.
I wish he'd stop a little while
And try to warm my cold, red toes.

But then, I s'pose he must go on
So other boys and girls can play.
I shouldn't call him sleepyhead,
'Cause where he is it's always day.