If “content” is the narrative,
Wee daubed lines on a page —
A book without superlative
Would fill the content gauge

And if “content” is bits and bobs
Left in your grandpa’s trunk —
A pair of broken door knobs
Would serve as content junk

But if “content” is happiness,
The peace of being whole —
One errant daub, or bob the less
Denies a content soul.