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 and 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.
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