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 one.

One was a teacher - the tools she used were books, music, and art. The other, a parent, who worked with a guiding hand, and a gentle and loving heart.

Day after day the teacher toiled, with touch that was deft, for sure. While the parent labored by her side and polished and smoothed it pure.

And when at last their task was done, they were proud of what they had wrought. For the things they molded into the child could never be sold nor bought.

And each agreed they would have failed if they had worked alone. For behind the parents stood the school, and behind the teacher, the home.