Two Poems by Emily Dickinson

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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

-o0o-

I Stepped from Plank to Plank

I stepped from Plank to Plank

A slow and cautious way

The Stars about my Head I felt

About my Feet the Sea

I knew not but the next

Would be my final inch -

This gave me that precarious Gait

Some call Experience

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