Friendship is cracking,
Suspicion paints pictures of insults.
From self-pity the soul aches —
It looks outward, hunting for causes.

Nearest at hand, the one who shared bread,
Not so much of flour as of the heart —
Why was he silent, or said the wrong thing?
Who is to blame? He is first.

A pleased enemy, sympathizing, will listen,
Will rejoice — the opponent has weakened.
Later a friend will untangle him from the web,
And a saddened slave will come out free.