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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, a parent with a guiding hand, and a gently loving heart.
Day after day, the teacher toiled with touch that was deft and sure; 
While the parents 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 this thing they had molded in the child could neither be sold nor bought.
And each agreed they would have failed if they had worked alone,
For behind the parent stood the school and behind the teacher...the home.

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