I dreamed I stood

in a studio

And watched two

sculpters 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 and

music and art;

One was a parent

with a guiding hand

and a gentle, loving heart.

And when at last

their work was done

They were proud of

what they had wrought

For the things they

had worked into the child

could never be

sold or bought.

And each agreed she

would have failed

if she had worked alone

For behind the parent

stood the school,

and behind the teacher

stood the home.