Unity  
 
I dreamed I stood in a studio 
And watched two sculptors there. 
The clay they used was a young child's heart 
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 a gentle, loving heart. 
 
Day after day, the teacher toiled with a touch 
That was careful, 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 nor brought. 
 
And each agree they would have failed 
If each had worked alone. 
For behind the parent stood the school 
And behind the teacher, the home. 
 
~Author Unknown~