The sparkle of dew when a winter morning awakens, and the famous writer of the road not taken

I sing by day, and whistle by night. I may give a gentle kiss, or a stinging bite. I move without being seen, though my works may be visible. My temper can be volatile, making anything divisible. Whether leaves or a house, no weight is too great. But without me, a large ship in water may just stagnate. What am I?

I am a piece of a giant, fallen and bare. I sleep like the dead, without worry or care. I can travel by water, or fuel a warm fire, Or just lay in the yard, fulfilling no desire.

Although they swim with an elegant grace, penguins and ducks have one endearing trait. Once on land, with cute tiny feet, they move around with my silly gait.

I look like a little tree Most kids hate me But, really, I’m quite tasty.