In plain words
The poet, of the fruit of this decad: Yaśōdā, the cowherd woman so deeply loving, with hips like the hood of a serpent in its anthill, rejoiced to see her son Gōvinda come home from grazing the herd of calves, and told him all these words of what he should do; Viṭṭucittaṉ of lovely Putuvai, where those without envy live, sang them. Those who learn these [from a teacher] and can sing them will see the two feet of the sea-coloured one.