Two Sculptors

I dreamed I saw a studio

And watched two sculptors there,

The clay they used was a child’s mind

And they fashioned it with care.

One was a teacher - the tools he used

Were books, music, and art,

The other, a parent, worked with a guiding hand,

And a gentle loving heart.

Day after day, the teacher toiled with a touch

That was careful, deft, and sure,

While the parent labored by his side

And polished and smoothed it over.

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 agree they would have failed

If either had worked alone.

For behind the parent stood the school

And behind the teacher, their home.

Anonymous