My heart cries out over Moab,
whose fugitives flee as far as Zoar,(A)
to Eglath-shelishiyah;
they go up the slope of Luhith weeping;
they raise a cry of destruction
on the road to Horonaim.
The waters of Nimrim(B) are desolate;
the grass is withered, the foliage is gone,
and the vegetation has vanished.
So they carry their wealth and belongings
over the Wadi of the Willows.(C)

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