Our Children by Annelinde Metzner

 How do we bring our children along?  How do we share with them all that is best about being human?  All too often, I hear of events in children’s lives that no one should ever experience. Children are being subjected to trauma that will reverberate through all our lives. We are all one people, and all children are our own.  These poems are just a few simple meditations on how to bring children along with the best we have to give. My own son passed on in 2004, and I honor all that we taught each other.

The Poet Walks the Woods               

“That’s what I’m here for!” says the poet
to the young family,
gazing downward beside the trail.
“The Trillium- they’re called ephemerals
because they don’t last long!
They bloom in spring
just before the leaves are on the trees.
Three petals, three leaves, three everything.
So, Trillium.”
The littlest girl stows away a note
in some memory pocket.
“…When I’m an old woman,
I’ll walk the woods
looking for Trillium…”

Our children                        

Our children, our children, our children…
Mom and Dad Redbird are back-and-forth,
back-and-forth,
bringing food and care for the young one.
Little puffball, grey-feathered,
whirling and flapping those tiny wings.
A fledgling!
Mom and Dad take turns, Dad bringing food,
Mama guarding from above,
the two of them seamlessly switching roles.
“Chip, chip,” they call, venturing away,
but not too far,
always an eye on the young ‘un.
Mama stops her work, bells out her chest
and rejoices with her sweet redbird-song.
Baby hops gingerly from branch to branch,
testing wings,
shy and determined,
excited and full of fear.
Our children, our children, our children…
our focus, our lives, our treasure,
our meaning, our worry, our joy,
our everyday, our eternity,
our children.

Defense                           

We venture out to the promontory on the bay,
surveying all the glory of Charleston, the Holy City.
We remember our scientists, our NOAA,
oceanic and atmospheric,
at work here to help us all,
at work to keep themselves alive.
This end of the world, 
where money is still lavished
on loving Nature and preserving Her.
We turn to leave, splots of rain growing bigger.
A young woman, a girl really,
comes to me, exuding fear.
“Can you help us?
That creepy guy has been watching us.”
The two tall girls on their bikes
had lost their joy to the stranger’s threatening gaze.
“Of course. We’ll follow you!” I say.
Bad-ass Grandmas to the rescue!
We follow the brave girls out,
girls on bikes in the rain,
us in our car,
remembering ourselves as well, 
once the predator’s target.

Music Immersion                    

The gifted guitarist dazzles us
with Bach, Torroba and McCartney,
while two children gaze in rapture
from the second row.
Still as mice, open,
there is in the music something
that says to them, “Pay attention! 
I will be your future!
Let this gorgeous energy fill your body
with joy.”
The parents are rapt as well,
and there is a third child!
In her mother’s lap,
just as quiet, absorbed in the sound.
Suddenly the hour is over and we all stand,
thunderous applause and many “Bravo’s”.
The children leave, skipping and smiling, 
thinking, “this will be my life.”

Sisters of Mercy                  

We walk into the May Forest,
the newest South Carolina state park,
so recently the convent of the Sisters of Mercy.
Nuns who worked tirelessly for the children, for families,
the orphans, the marginalized, 
the forgotten.
At the ancient mound,
the Grotto of the Virgin Mary is empty,
and the healing waters of Our Lady of Lourdes do not flow.
The sisters have gone, but their prayers remain,
lifting this forest, the azaleas, 
the night herons and the ospreys,
the painted buntings and the owls.
The Sisters welcomed all this life, Life!
into the Motherhouse, into their care,
gathering the world into a nest of their love.
The Sisters’ energy will be here saving the world
long, long after they are gone.

For the Future           

At the Bluff Mountain Festival,
Madison County’s best,
the stage is set, the tables laden,
the people come to set up chairs in the shade.
Beginning with JAM!
Junior Appalachian Musicians, as young as six,
take the stage with mandolins, fiddle,
bass, banjo and guitar.
Old Joe Clark, Shortnin’ Bread,
chicken in the bread pan pickin’ out dough!
The kids love the old tunes,
their grandparents’ tunes,
the tunes that are the Mountains’ own.
Hours of practice, of devotion,
and they show their pride on stage!
Then later, a graduate, a JAM alumna, 
Rhiannon, all of twenty years old,
one of those special ones touched by the angels.
Her proud old fiddle teacher is beside her at the mic.
Rhiannon fiddles with a tone so pure,
so round, 
so breathtakingly beautiful,
all who hear her are transported.
“Now that’s how it’s done,” her teacher tells the crowd.
Rhiannon gazes into the distance, not of this plane.
Two little girls come up to the wooden dance floor
to clog away with their neighbors.
Two elder women take them by the hands, 
each one teach one,
dancing them off and away with a twinkle and a skip.
That’s how it’s done. 

Annelinde Metzner

June 2026

BIO: Annelinde Metzner honors the Divine Feminine with her poetry and music. She has composed many praise songs included in her songbook, “Lady of Ten Thousand Names,” and has created and produced concerts for the Goddess including most recently, “Around the Ancient Tower.” She directs the choir at the UUSV in Black Mountain, NC, and founded the women’s choirs Womansong and Sahara Peace Choir in Asheville NC. http://annelindesworld.blogspot.com