Together

I dreamed I stood in a studio

And watched two sculptors there.

The clay they used was a young childs mind

And they fashioned it with care.

One was a teacher the tools he used

Were books and music and art;

One was a parent with a guiding hand

And a gentle loving heart.

Day after day, the Teacher toiled

With a touch that was deft and sure,

While the Parent labored by his side

And polished and smoother it oer,

And when at last their task was done,

They were proud of what they had wrought;

For the thing they had molded into the child

Could neither be sold nor bought.

And each agreed he would have failed

If he had worked alone,

For behind the parent stood the school

And behind the teacher, the home.

                                                                                                                -Author Unknown