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

Day after day the teacher toiled
with a touch that was deft and 
While the parent labored by 
her side
And polished and smoothed it 
o'er and o'er.
And when at last their task
was done
They were proud of what had 
For the things they had molded
into the child
Could neither be sold not bought.

And each agreed they would 
have failed
If they had worked alone - 
For behind the parent stood the
And behind the teacher the