Our glittering gold has grown dull; the stones of the Temple lie scattered in the streets.
Zion's young people were as precious to us as gold, but now they are treated like common clay pots.
Even a mother wolf will nurse her cubs, but my people are like ostriches, cruel to their young.
They let their babies die of hunger and thirst; children are begging for food that no one will give them.
People who once ate the finest foods die starving in the streets; those raised in luxury are pawing through garbage for food.
My people have been punished even more than the inhabitants of Sodom, 1 which met a sudden downfall at the hands of God.
Our princes were undefiled and pure as snow, vigorous and strong, glowing with health.
Now they lie unknown in the streets, their faces blackened in death; their skin, dry as wood, has shriveled on their bones.
Those who died in the war were better off than those who died later, who starved slowly to death, with no food to keep them alive.