This is a prophecy about Mo'av: The night 'Ar is sacked, Mo'av is ruined. The night Kir is sacked, Mo'av is ruined.
He went up to the temple, to Dibon and to the high places, to weep. On N'vo and Meidva Mo'av is howling, every head shaved bald, every beard cut off.
In the streets they wear sackcloth; on their roofs and in their squares, everyone howls and weeps profusely.
Heshbon and El'aleh cry out, they are heard as far as Yachatz. Mo'av's best troops cry aloud, as their courage faints away.
My heart cries out for Mo'av! Its fugitives flee to Tzo'ar, a calf three years old. They ascend the slope of Luchit, weeping as they go; on their way to Horonayim, they utter heartrending cries.
The waters of Nimrim are desolate, the grass is dried up, the new growth fails, nothing green is left.
Therefore they carry away their wealth, everything they have put aside, across the Vadi of the Willows.
For the cry has circulated throughout Mo'av's territory - its howling has reached Eglayim, its howling has reached Be'er-Elim.
For the waters of Dimon are full of blood, yet I have worse in store for Dimon - a lion for those who escape from Mo'av and for those who remain in its land.