Oh how the little ickle bottom-feeder
hath taken residency upon my hopes.
As if feeding from my very dreams.

"Lo! You rump grazer! What hath born you upon my shadowy endurance?"

Indubitably the backside-nibbler gave no response.
Merely resting and feeding off my woolgathering.
And so I deserted my scrutinizations.
Leaving myself to my palliative and ale.