I dreamt I stood in studio
And watched two sculptors there.
The clay they used was a young child’s body and mind
And they fashioned it with care.
One was a professional – the tools used
Were skills, books, music and art.
The other, a parent, worked with a guiding hand,
And a gentle, loving heart.
Day after day, the professional toiled with touch
That was skillful, sure and well planned.
While the parent labored day by day
And polished and smoothed it with loving hands.
And when at last, their task was done
They were proud of what they wrought.
For the things they had molded into the child
Could neither be sold or bought.
And each agreed they would have failed
If each had worked alone.
For behind the professional stood the community
And behind the parent, the home.
-author unknown-
