STATISTIC
My life is a curtained window,
A refraction of light in the mirror,
I am a flash in a snow-covered field,
Brilliant in brightness,
Not a torch in the mist
But in clear daylight.
I am the herald before the king
In bright silk, overshadowed
And so forgotten.
I am the unidentified face in the album,
A passport name, a reply in a census,
One more figure in the population statistics,
Dead while I am alive,
Only alive when dead
Until the statistics are changed.
Tom Holt
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