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In the deep of the snow, In the dead of winter,
Under the Aurora Borealis taking our breath away.
The snow turtles jostle, and skittle, and Skim the snow,
All in a beautifully quiet nights, bountiful, wonderful play.

Man has seldom seen this recluse, so gentle and so renowned. 
White as the snow packed earth itself, they simply can’t be found.
They sled and slide and scurry to hide before the break of day,
No one knows they’re even there, for they make not even a sound.

Animals respect them for they can’t make them into prey.
Even the polar bears leave them alone, except for to play.
And no matter how much the bears bat them about, I say!
They just close up and go wherever they are conveyed.

Magical, they can swim waters quite cold and really deep.
They eat the little fishes and enjoy whatever they can reap.
A man will never find their den as they dig into the frozen snow,
For like the tundra gophers, they live in the frozen ground below.

I swear they do exist, for a baby once came to me, admiring my fishing pole.
For I had lots of little tasty, yummy, fish that he wanted my son and I to throw.
We obliged him just that once, and then for more nights before we left his land.
But if you're going searching there’s something I should let you know, offhand.
They only show themselves to the pure of heart with a fish offering in your hand.

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