In plain words
Dēvakī, lamenting to Kaṇṇaṉ: O you who mingle with all, my tender child, O Gōvinda [keeper of the cows]! Settled in my hands, fingering the tip of one breast with one hand like a young, tender shoot overflowing with great beauty, the other breast in your mouth, now and then granting me a soft baby smile, you would have gazed into my face with your two holy eyes full of beauty: that gaze too I have lost, I have lost.