From the sole of your foot to the top of your head
    there is no soundness –
only wounds and bruises
    and open sores,
not cleansed or bandaged
    or soothed with oil.

Your country is desolate,
    your cities burned with fire;
your fields are being stripped by foreigners
    right before you,
    laid waste as when overthrown by strangers.
Daughter Zion is left
    like a shelter in a vineyard,
like a hut in a cucumber field,
    like a city under siege.

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