The terrier loved perverted fun,
knew lousy weather, little sun.
His stubby legs could barely run
so he made up the game of 'one'.
For yonks he spent his lonely nights
on his computer, using bytes.
Soon, Carpal Tunnel got his wrists
thus grew the pile of unmarked lists
of names of poets he could hate
and from the shadows he would rate.
He did not know that his malaise
could have been cured in simple ways.
A vitamin, it's called B-Six
is for the tunnel a great fix,
as for the terrier's misery,
he lacked the vitamin called D.
Which can be taken through the hide,
but, sunshine's lacking countrywide.
Thus, things were looking rather bleak,
his brain, quite tiny, sprang a leak.
And no more 'Ones' were ever seen
on Poemhunter's happy scene.