In plain words
The poet, to the good people of the world: Groves where swarms of bees hum, groves where flocks of peacocks dance, groves the clouds come down from above to embrace, groves where flocks of koels call, groves where the Lord of the eternal attendants [nityasūris] dwells for good: the ungrateful fools who do not say ‘Tiruvaraṅgam, the ornament of this world’ fall upon their rice and eat it. Stop them, you good people, and give it to a dog.