• 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 and music and art.
    One was a parent with a guiding hand
    And a gentle, loving heart.
    Day after day the teacher toiled
    With touch that was deft and sure,
    While the parent labored by her side
    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 not 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.
    - Anonymous
Last Modified on November 1, 2009