Poem 481

In plain words

While we were bathing, He bundled up all our saris, and from up in the ponna tree, however much we begged, He would not give them, mother! Ask Him, mother! Ask Him! At midnight He climbed up onto our terraces, lifted the braids of the sleeping women, tied them together, and came away; ask Him, mother! Ask Him! Mother! I lay beside you, without stirring or moving; at midnight, when did I go out and come back? Tell me, mother, tell me!