I had been working on an epic poem of apology, but it was, I confess, rough sledding. I would show a bit of it to you, but... well.

Fair Lavender, thou rose, thou star, thou dove,
Vouchsafe a glance from soft and limpid eye
Upon th'unworthy wretch, whose words may move
Thy heart to pity! Hear my plaintive cry!

You see my difficulty, I am sure.

I spoke with Professor Sinistra this evening at my final detention, and she suggested perhaps a combination of simple words and complicated flowers might be better suited to the occasion. I shall closet myself with the book she has lent me on the Language of the Flowers, and will attempt to strip my words of all frills, furbelows, pretenses, defenses, and offenses.

Wish me luck, Padma. Nos morituri te salutamus.