Fame is a fickle food is a poem composed by Emily Dickinson.
Fame is a fickle food
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.
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.