Whose Child Is This?
I dreamed I stood in a studio
And watched two sculptore 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.
And when at last their work was done
They were proud of what they had wrought
For the things they had worked into the child
Could never be sold or bought.
And each agreed she would have failed
If she had worked alone
For behind the parents stood the school
And behind the teacher stood the home.