Study Desk

Your mother is like a vine in your blood, planted by the waters. She was fruitful and full of branches because of many waters.

And there were rods to her, strong for the scepters of rulers, and her stature was exalted among the thick branches. And it was seen in her height, with the multitude of her branches.

But she was plucked in fury. She was thrown to the ground, and the east wind dried up her fruit. Her strong rods were torn away and withered; the fire burned her.

And now she is planted in the wilderness, in a dry and thirsty ground.

And fire has gone out from a rod of her branches, it consumed her fruit, and there is not a strong rod in her to be a scepter to rule. It is a lament, and has become a lament.