Emily Dickinson - Fame is a fickle food

Posted by Autumn in

Fame is a fickle food
Upon a shifting plate
Whose table once a
Guest but not
The second time is set.

Whose crumbs the crows inspect
And with ironic caw
Flap past it to the Farmer's Corn –
Men eat of it and die.

This entry was posted on 24 July 2008 at 05:44 and is filed under . You can follow any responses to this entry through the comments feed .

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