Monmouth resident Arthur Williams brought this sonnet into the Beacon office last week, describing his much-loved home town.

I know not why the Monnow joins the Wye,

but their river banks frame picturesque town,

now clothed in Autumn bronze and golden brown,

while rivers dance ageless waltz neath the sky.

By Norman barons and clerics savoured

could Monmouth born Henry prefer Belle France?

or Rolls, the sky above to ground, by chance?

For many, the town remains much favoured.

Dean forest resourced iron works long gone leaving market town straddling Offa's Dyke.

Except with oval ball, nation as one,

passing time of day with good friends to like.

Haberdashers and State with standards high,

well balanced youngsters, whose careers fly.

Arthur Williams,

(Monmouth)