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 Famer's Corn-- Men eat of it and die. --Emily Dickinson
Whose crumbs the crows inspect And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Famer's Corn-- Men eat of it and die.
--Emily Dickinson
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