I dreamt 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 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 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. |