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 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 worked in the child
Could never be sold or bought.
And each agreed they would have failed
If she had worked alone
For behind the parent stood the school
And behind the teacher the home.