O beautiful material,
Strong and navy blue,
Proteus himself is not as flexible,
Nor as persevering as thee.
Despite the abuse to which I subject you during the year,
Thou remain true to me in times of cheer and fear.

O steadfast zippers
Who seal off my effects,
And especially my precious secrets, from the world,
Without thee, how could I possibly survive?
When the pressures of the world bear down on me,
I unload them unto thee and know thou shalt protect them within.

And thee too noble straps
Help me bear the crushing weight of Atlas' burden.
When I feel like I may surrender and collapse,
Thou comfort my aching shoulders,
And give me the strength to tread forth and face life.
Without thee, where would I find the might to go on?

O dear, dear backpack,
But what a dreadful encumbrance thou can be
When our troubles combine and intermingle
To fashion agonizing torture upon thy constitution and upon my bones.
Through the pain, though, the supple bliss and warmth of they cushioning,
Maintains the everlasting bond of our love.

Ultimately, our constant proximity results in a bursting,
Of thy tolerance and my own patience.
The inconceivable strain disrupts Libra's balance,
And wears think upon thy threads of lenience.
But fear not, for Astraea's needle can stitch strong words
And restore the union of dear, sincere companions.

So though the struggle for reciprocity may endure,
I will stray from thy benevolence, backpack, nevermore.