There was a caribou from Kanoda
Who migrated in a parabola!
Glad were we to have a rambler as she -
A prima donna of the first degree -
On our pilgrimage. Many frozen lakes
And rivers had she crossed. Many heartaches
Did she suffer at the loss of friend,
And mate, and young calf too. Beasts without end -
A herd one-hundred thousand creatures strong,
A line one-hundred eighty-five miles long
Did she lead from taiga to tundra
And back again. One terrible faux-pas
And all was lost. Five-hundred caribou
Drowned in one horrible hullabaloo
In swollen stream. Responsibility
She claimed herself, and such adversity
Was common in her world. To her it fell
(With other pregnant females) to excel.

For they led the migrations. As for males,
And those immature, they dragged their tails
Further and further behind. Every year
A thousand miles they'd roam: their whole career
Hard journeys 'cross ice and snow. A fur piece
Around her neck she wore, a good warm fleece
At which all laughed except the polar bear.
These two knew all our days would not be fair.