The precious sons of Zion,
Weighed against pure gold,
How they are regarded as (A)earthenware jars,
The work of a potter’s hands!
Even (B)jackals offer the breast,
They nurse their young;
But the daughter of my people has proved herself (C)cruel,
Like (D)ostriches in the wilderness.
The (E)tongue of the infant clings
To the roof of its mouth because of (F)thirst;
The children (G)ask for bread,
But no one breaks it for them.

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