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 he used were books, music, and art;
One a parent with a guiding hand and a gentle, loving heart.
Day after day the teacher toiled, with a touch that was deft and sure.
While the parent labored by her side and polished and smoothed it over.
And when at last their task was done, they were
proud of what they had wrought,
For the things that they had molded into the child
could neither be sold or bought.
And each agreed they would have failed if he had worked alone,
For behind the parent stood the school, and behind the teacher, the home.