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 toll she 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 toiled with touch that was careful, deft and sure. While the parent labored by his side And polished and smoothed t o'er. 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 neither be sold or brought. 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.