14/10/2026
The Visitors
By Rhianna
The children turn up at our door,
with bags and coats in hand.
Another pair of shoes on our floor
and someone new to understand.
Excitement bubbles in the kitchen,
as the kettle boils and the paper works filed.
But something in our brains is itching
as we start to play and the social worker smiles.
What if one more pair of shoes
means there’s no room left for mine?
Do I have to share my breakfast?
What if they scream and cry?
This house is loud already.
Will the new child be kind?
And what about my mum and dad,
For me will there be time?
Well, what I’ve learnt throughout the years,
time shared is not time halved.
And the more siblings that came and went
increased the size of my heart.
When people ask me why I’m kind
Or not so quick to judge,
I say I grew up fostering
and hold not the slightest grudge.
I talk of just how proud I am
to have them come to stay,
of all the funny stories
and the day they went away.
Wherever they are now
I hope that they’re okay.
Because sharing time with them
made me who I am today.
