• Unity
     
    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, music, and art.
    The other, a parent, worked with a guiding hand
    And gentle, loving heart.
    Day after day, the teacher toiled with touch
    That was careful, deft, and sure.
    While the parent labored by his side
    And polished and smoothed it o'er.
    And when at last their work 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 would have failed
    If each had worked alone.
    For behind the parent, stood the school
    And behind the teacher, the home.
     
    Anonymous