Unity
I dreamed I stood in a studio,
And watched two sculptors there.
The clay they used was a you child’s mind,
And they fashioned it with care.
One was a teacher; the tools she used,
Were books and music and art.
One parent with a guiding hand,
And a gentle, loving heart.
Day after day the teacher toiled,
With touch that was deft and sure.
And polished and smoothed it 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 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
