I dreamed I stood in a studio and
watched two sculptures there.
The clay they used was a young
child's mind and they fashioned
it with care.
One was a teacher, the tool she
used was books, music, and art.
The other, a parent, and a gentle,
Day after day the teacher toiled
with a touch that was careful,
deft and sure.
While the parent laboured by her
side and polished and smoothed
And then at last, their task was
done, they were proud of what
they had wrought.
For the things they had moulded
into the child could neither
be sold nor bought.
And each agreed they would have
failed if each had worked alone.
For behind the parent stood
the school and behind the
teacher the home.