There's No—charm In Golden Buttercups Poem by Mark Heathcote

Having fended off the world and served her hidden charms
He felt like a lucky charm, on a broken bracelet!

Sliding redundantly through, wet milky aging palms.
The chain is broken; the charm is soiled with debasement.

It's a passage of time, which never mends or returns
To the wearer who gave it life, meaning, without love.

Now cut me some slack; there is no money-back transfers —
Once something's pawned, there's no—charm in golden buttercups.