There Till They Are Seventy Five - Poem by James Bredin
We have a large group of appointees with huge entitlements,
In a real Red Chamber in an Ottawa establishment,
Built-in Canadian aristocrats; as if we needed them
Can’t know or critize their entitlements so therefore can’t condemn.
They are busy coming and going to and from wherever they live,
All carrying briefcases in a lifestyle that’s very addictive,
But we could turn the Red Chamber into a large bingo hall,
Leave the seats where they are and some speaker does the call.
But nothing can change because they like it the way it is,
No questions and no answers and no one would dare to quiz,
And the appointed senators are happy and everyone is pleased,
They are there till they’re seventy five or deceased.
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