Untitled



I dreamed I stood in a studio
And watched two sculptors there
The clay used was a young child's mind
And they fashioned it with care
One was a teacher -the tools he 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 touch
That was deft and sure.
While the parent laboured by his 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 moulded into the child
Could neither be sold nor bought
And each agreed they would have failed
If each had worked alone
For behind the teacher stood the school
And behind the parent the home


Author Unknown

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Gem Of Black Soil

Shadows (POEM)

Who Will Marry Musuma?