Poem 417

In plain words

O bee! That He should raise His eyes and look at me just once: tell Śrī Kṛṣṇa this word of mine; on the clouded street of my mind ask Him to set the radiance of the sun that is Kṛṣṇa; to the withered tree of my life tell Him to bring new shoots, and quickly; the garland of my life's flowers lies scattered: tell Him to string it gracefully and wear it.