Fame is a Fickle Food
(Part 5: The Single Hound IV)
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, 5
And with ironic caw
Flap past it to the Farmer’s corn;
Men eat of it and die.
Emily Dickinson
