A taste for

Is this any better? acrimony
sweet bitter dregs, strewn
crumpled bloodied leaves,
like pages of a life,
scattered on that pristine beach
alabaster as her form was, bouldered
burdened glasses, some windswept
chimes ring the solstices

Who rang the stone
on the knoll those so many
times?

dirges are not meant for this
merely melodic whispered mewls
trailing off as those leaves left
their trails.