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My heart cries out for Moab;
    its fugitives flee up to Zoar,
    to Eglath-shelishiyah.
For at the ascent of Luhith it goes up it with weeping;
    for on the road of Horonaim they raise up a cry of destruction.
For the waters of Nimrim are wastelands;
    for the grass has withered,
the vegetation has vanished,
    there is no greenness.
Therefore they carry the abundance it has made
    and their store of goods over the river of the poplars.

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