Old Comrades Oct 17th,2012 Poem by James Bredin

Some of my old comrades got sick and are now long dead,
Names written on graveyard stones and stories in my head,
At association meetings where all our memories are fading fast,
And I sometimes wonder, how much longer these good times will last.

I'm sorry to even say this but soon enough, I'll be dead,
Though I don't know how, when, where, or why, but it's all in my head,
If we could get death with dignity, it would give me peace of mind,
How many times can our Ottawa establishment decline?

We have no binding referendums so we cannot have change,
And no one up there among the aristocrats will arrange,
And less than half Canadians even bother to vote,
Where is the politician or aristocrat, we should promote?