Saturday, November 22, 2008


by Ray A. Lingenfelter

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.

And when at last their task 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 parent stood the school
and behind the teacher, the home.


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