Fame is a fickle food <br />Upon a shifting plate <br />Whose table once a <br />Guest but not <br />The second time is set. <br /> <br />Whose crumbs the crows inspect <br />And with ironic caw <br />Flap past it to the Farmer's Corn-- <br />Men eat of it and die.<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fame-is-a-fickle-food-1659/
