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 the teacher; the tools he used
were books and music and art.
One a parent with a guiding hand,
And a gentle loving heart.
Day after day the teacher toiled
With touch that was skilled and sure,
While the parent labored by his side,
And polished and smoothed some more.
And when at last their work was done,
They were proud of what they had wrought.
For the things they had molded into the child
Could neither be sold or bought.
And each agreed he would have failed
If he had worked alone.
For behind the parent stood the school,
And behind the teacher, the home. |
