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, and the tools she used
Were books, music and art;
One was a parent with a guiding hand
And a gentle, loving heart.
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 be neither 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.