¹² Little Children: Mother, grain and wine—where is it?

Like the wounded,
    collapsing in the city streets,
They pine and die
    on their mother’s breast.

¹³ My dear daughter Jerusalem,
    how can I tell your tragedy?
To what can I liken this disgrace?
    O virgin daughter Zion, would that I could comfort you.
Who can heal your massive injury
    that is as deep and wide as the sea?

¹⁴ Nothing but vanity from your prophets—
    nothing but worthlessness from them;
They never warned and exposed you to correct your wicked ways
    so that things would go well again with no captivity.
Instead, they told divine oracles of lies and deceit,
    that everything was fine.