The Busy Student

You, you know, have quite a bit
Of work you do, how do you do it?
Unless, you never sleep, only sit.

Maybe it's a special rite,
At least, allowing you to work through the night,
Killing not, I hope, nor even a blight,
Either that, or not a mortal fight.

Make it so, and your work is done.
Even if the journey was not that fun.

Silver lights, they bellow down
Over that lonely little frown.

Perhaps you've a super power:
Roses are red, and they are your flower.
Open the buds, and the petals, they shower
Up from above, as if from a tower.
Done with your work, without even a glower.

(You make me so proud)