What natural force compels the fish
to fertilize the female's eggs,
threaded in glossy globules, bright
below the tide-pool's frothy edge?

No love is in their sexless eyes.
They lack the charms of limb and voice.
Only the run of soundless scales
can justify a transient choice.

It can't be passion; probably
they find in mating no delight  -
but strange respect as pairs glide past,
equal with equal edged in light.

Gail White

If you have any comments on this poem,  Gail White would be pleased to hear from you.