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
The other, a parent, worked with a guiding
Hand, and a gentle, loving heart.
Day after day, the teacher worked with
Touch that was deft and sure
While the parent standing by his side
Polished and smoothed it o ‘er.
And when 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 teacher stood the school
And behind the parent, the home.
Author unknown. If anyone has a proprietary interest in this story please authenticate and I will be happy to credit, or remove, as the circumstances dictate.