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I dreamed I stood in a studio
And watched two sculptors there.
The clay they worked 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 a parent with a guiding hand,
And a gentle, loving heart.
Day after
day the teacher worked,
With a touch that was deft and sure,
While the family also did their part,
And polished and smoothed it o'er.
And when
at last the 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 they may have failed
If each had worked alone,
For behind the teacher stood the school,
And behind the parent, the family home.
- Author
Unknown -
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