Autumn villanelle

In Competition No. 2870 you were invited to submit an autumn villanelle.

Stephen Fry likes villanelles. The form inspired him to write his book The Ode Less Travelled (subtitled Unlocking the poet within). I like them too — and so do you, if the size of the entry is anything to go by. A round of applause for the winners below, who take £30 each.
 

Autumn has come and summer dreams are dead
And though she compensates with golden trees
Beyond her kind deceit death lies ahead.
 
She wears a smile and moves with gentle tread
And yet her tone will change as time decrees;
Autumn has come and summer dreams are dead.
 
Too soon her transient beauty will be shed
And withered blooms will disappoint her bees.
Beyond her kind deceit death lies ahead.
 
Apologies in fruit are brightly spread
But still we hear in every gossip breeze
Autumn has come and summer dreams are dead.
 
Although she dances, beautiful in red,
Doing her best to pacify and please
Beyond her kind deceit death lies ahead.
 
We never welcomed autumn to our bed
But she arrived to titillate and tease.
Autumn has come and summer dreams are dead.
Beyond her kind deceit death lies ahead.
Frank McDonald

 
It’s hard to write an autumn villanelle
On mists and gourds, maturing sun and grain.
Perhaps an ode will serve me just as well.
 
Late flowers and vines and bees in clammy cell
Bring nothing to poor Keats’s fevered brain.
It’s hard to write an autumn villanelle.
 
On lambs loud-bleating there’s a tale to tell
In lines that flow, all free of any pain.
Perhaps an ode would serve me just as well.
 
My heart aches for I cannot weave a spell
With this strange form. I emphasise again:
It’s hard to write an autumn villanelle.
 
A cider press and plumped-up hazel shell
Would make a thing of beauty, it is plain.