My hero.

Our Young Carer.

When I wake him he can’t believe its morning,
He greets me with a stretch, still yawning,
Blinking as his eyes adjust to the day light,
Tired as his sister kept him awake all night,
Climbing out of bed, grabbing his clothes,
Creeping down the stairs on his tip toes,
Trying to avoid disturbing his sister,
Mummy is in her room trying to dress her,
Shes screaming and he’s downstairs on his own,
He’ll get himself ready without any groans,
Then make some breakfast, for him and for her,
He’s not only her brother, he’s a young carer,
Helping his parents as much as he can,
Growing too quickly into a handsome young man,
Coping with things that most adults couldn’t,
Doing things that most grown ups wouldn’t,
When they come downstairs he is all ready,
His sister comes in and lies on the settee,
Mummy says how proud she is of her boy,
Then kisses them both and smiles with joy,
Joy that her children are both up and dressed,
Proud that with these children she’s been blessed,
But sad for her boy covered in freckles,
And sad for her boy who deserves a medal,
The 9 year old boy with the patient of a saint,
The 9 year old who helps without complaint,
He adores his sister and tells her that he loves her,
He’s much more than a brother, he’s an amazing young carer. ❤

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