I dreamed I stood in a studio,
and watched two sculptors there.
The clay they used was a young child’s mind,
and they fashioned it with care.
One was a teacher, the tools she used were books, music and art;
One was a parent, with guiding hands and a gentle, loving heart.
Day after day the teacher toiled,
with touch that was deft and sure.
While the parent who labored by her side,
polished and smoothed it o’er.
And when at last their task was done,
they were proud of what they had wrought.
For the things they had molded into the child,
could neither be sold nor bought.
And each agreed they would have failed
if they had worked alone,
For behind the parent stood the school,
And behind the teacher, the home.
. . . . . Author Unknown