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Pity Moab

I pity Moab!
Its people are running to Zoar
    and to Eglath-Shelishiyah.
They cry on their way up
    to the town of Luhith;
on the road to Horonaim
    they tell of disasters.
The streams of Nimrim
and the grasslands
    have dried up.
Every plant is parched.

The people of Moab are leaving,
    crossing over Willow Creek,
taking everything they own
    and have worked for.

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