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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.

Added: 9 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 4 Sep 2026 12:40 AM | Viewed: 14010 times

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