Hippocampus, muskrat love’s got nothing on you.
The female seahorse deposits her eggs in her mate’s brood pouch,
And off she goes.
He bobs around through calm, shallow waters,
His seahorse belly swelling,
Making sure those eggs are safe and sound.
Once a day, the female comes courting.
She necks affectionately with her mate,
Coiling her tail seductively around his,
Just to let him know who’s boss.
And when those miniature seahorses emerge from the daddy pouch,
The females’ back to knock him up again.
If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.