In plain words
Yaśōdā says: Lord of Vēṅkaṭam, lovely with groves full of fragrance, dark bull ready for battle, you who dote on the calves: though I had them brought for you, you went off without taking the parasol, the sandals and the flute you love. Little child who went behind the calves in the fierce, hot forest, your red lotus feet are scorched, your eyes have reddened and you have grown thin; and are you not my Lord?