And the roe, giving birth in the field, lets her young one be uncared for, because there is no grass.
Naphtali is a roe let loose, giving fair young ones.
At the voice of the Lord the roes give birth, the leaves are taken from the trees: in his Temple everything says, Glory.
The waters of Nimrim will become dry: for the grass is burned up, the young grass is coming to an end, every green thing is dead.
What sounds of pain come from the beasts! the herds of cattle are at a loss because there is no grass for them; even the flocks of sheep are no longer to be seen.