So I cry sadly for Moab, for everyone in Moab. I moan for the people from the town of Kir Hareseth. I cry with the people of the town of Jazer for you, the grapevines of the town of Sibmah. In the past your vines spread all the way to the sea, as far as the sea of Jazer. But the destroyer has taken over your fruit and grapes. Joy and happiness are gone from the large, rich fields of Moab. I have stopped the flow of wine from the winepresses. No one walks on the grapes with shouts of joy. There are shouts, but not shouts of joy.
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