My name is Dave Liversidge. Lincoln Green resident, musician, poet, alcoholic and pain in the butt. I wrote this poem for one of the members of Trackmasters Walking Group after a trip to Otley Chevin.

"Stop!"
Your voice rifled through the forest.
Terrified
but insistent.

I froze in mid stride.

And from underneath my upraised boot,
You rescued a
Small, black slug,
Something I would never have noticed.

Then carrying it reverently,
as you would a child,
You laid it safe atop
a patch of Daisies.
To live another day.

Am I in tune with nature?
Not compared with you.
Seasons flow in your veins
Whilst I moan about cars.
You're special Catherine
Really.
Really special

	Nutter on the bus
	Deserved Belonging
	Catherine's slug