Inspired by Mal's creativity in Still Flying. No spoilers, I promise.

Also, you might perhaps see why I don't attempt poetry more than once a year. =======================================

High upon the Winter's crown

That iv'ry spire on the hill

the snow queen in her courtyard

amid a world in shards

smiled a secret heartsick frown

and felt the icy chill

Her dresses thickly woolen spun

fur-lined, pure, austere

diamonds dancing in her eyes

and in her midnight hair

She could find no true way

the sun had failed to rise

spring and summer unsprung

alone there was no day

and not courtly play-act graces

nor the finest pretty laces

could melt the spell undone

Through a crystal woods

across the glacial moraine

By north wind an answer came

on snowy mare a thief to caper

(and he might say very dapper)

a regular Robin Hood

From earthly fire browned

tempered steel, grit and muster

known by gunsmoke and a duster

set to wander, not knowing why

underneath a starry sky

that sparkled on the ground

But the world was bitter cold

and beauty often lies

and uncaring sons-of-bitches

kept putting holes in his hide

Though spite had made him bold

and survival was his measure

he was as though bewitched

to see the gardens' treasure

She surprised to see him,

him for once understood

this man blown by the wind

the lonely roads they'd taken

crossed paths as well they should

The land finally awakened

and away they went together

left behind their heavy burdens

over an ocean to fair weather

to a place blossoming and verdant

Overcome by awe

two hearts entwined, pleading

the world began to thaw

pressed together needing

her with sweetest kissing

him sliding up her dress

She found what she'd been missing

he hadn't been looking but found more

The pauper and the princess--

"Wa-ash!" Kaylee mewled. She was stomping up the corridor, some adorable combination of distressed, hurt, and annoyed, like when someone made a comment about layer cakes. "Stop makin' stories about me an' Simon! It ain't funny!"

The pilot chair squeaked a little as the blond man spun around, all innocent confusion. "All right then. I always do aim at least to be funny." He paused. "What stories?"

Mal listened to the commotion above, trying his damndest not to laugh, and put the finishing line down. Now he just had to leave this in a certain shuttle, and watch hilarity ensue. --The smuggler and the whore