A little ode to the bag
A bag,
It is never just a bag.
He is an ally, an accomplice, a trophy.
An object of desire, the price of our freedom.
It is a place full of history,
Of books, of stones, of mirrors.
It is used to carry our things,
He knows how to cover our backs.
But can also become
When the need arises,
Faithful guardian of our memories
And our plans for the future.
A handbag knows how to adapt,
To the various personalities.
To women who are big freaks,
Like those who throw everything in bulk.
Faithful to the post and always there,
He sits proudly on our arm.
But when morale is at its lowest
Or that getting up is a struggle,
He knows how to make himself forgotten
Or even serve as our pillow.
What's good about the bag,
In addition to serving as a bivouac,
It's that he is not resentful,
And will never blame us
To leave it at our feet
On a café's terrace.
The only one who can offer us
Good entertainment outside.
The only one to always provide us,
The right object at the right time;
Except for the great mystery
As well known as it is legendary,
The famous house keys,
Who always remain hidden deep down,
And are often responsible,
For uncontrollable nervous breakdowns.
The only one to hide well,
What we don't want to show.
Much better than a long-time friend,
The bag is as silent as a carp.
At ENVOL, we celebrate it,
This object full of emotions.
This object full of our manias,
Who is part of our life,
Who carries our world so well,
And reassures us in a second.
This object of desire one day,
Becomed in a little turn,
Our everyday companion,
And sometimes even forever.
The one who is like a drug,
Who into its midts has more than one trick,
And is according to the sociologists,
A whole little world of love.