Fame Is A Fickle Food (1659)

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.

by Emily Dickinson

Comments (7)

u have a chode kkkkkk
what do this poem mean
вы вообще охуели чтоли! ! ! ! дибилы
lol it played immediately at full volume while i was in class...
Fame is a fickle food..a great piece of work
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