The first week of term, School of Literature Drama and Creative Writing, UEA. The Wyatt storm hits. New students are subjected to seeing one poem (‘They flee from me’) over and over and over again, from lectures to corridors to social media. So I did my part with the two following short pieces on Twitter:

Sounds of fleeing feet
softly stalking my own heart:
hunter or hunted?

Tom Wyatt, that bearded old Tudor,
fancied himself Boleyn’s suitor.
Even though they were wed
they both lost their head,
one admittedly more than the other.

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