She said,

“Why pick a grape, from this rusty ol’ vine”

Friends disappearing all in time;

Blood red was the grape, ready to dine,

Her hand taking the leap; quick but in line

Something macabre sure lerked behind.

The last bloody grape, far from divine

Took all the time to commit the crime.

Made her glare at the group of nine

Different surely, as she stood crooked and said “All Mine”.