A wily old man in Harare

A wily Old man in Harare

There was a wily old man in Harare,
Who’d never been to Mutare,
He ruled 14 million strong,
And of him they wrote poetry and song,
They he ruled lived in misery,
Borne from his political wizardry,
He had lived eighty and seven,
But only looked eleven,
On the streets of the East he was revered,
And on the west he was feared,
His words became the law,
Until he bellowed, “No more breathing after four!”
He was swiftly shown the proverbial door,
And needless to say he is no more,
Ah, this wily old man in Harare,
Who’d never been to Mutare.