by Tom Zart

Created on: October 17, 2008

I once knew a lad named Clayton
Who was born on the seat of a car
Which is hard to believe or conceive
But sometimes that's the way things are.

His mother herself was a child
Who had not yet turned fifteen.
All she had was a drunken dad
Not one on whom she could lean.

All at once she felt sharp pains
So strong they made her cry out.
For he who was inside of her
Was eager to be born and shout.

She put on her coat and went out
To search for a nearby phone
On the streets of downtown St. Paul
She walked in the cold alone.

The winds of winter bit her flesh
As the snow kept tumbling down.
With all its windows rolled up tight
An old unlocked car she found.

She got inside and just in time
For her child to be born on the seat.
Said her prayers and cried in pain
As her baby kicked free with his feet.

She bundled him up in her coat
To keep winter's chill away
Then, fell back to rest awhile
And saw the lights of a cafe.

She knew it was late at night,
Not likely would someone walk by
So, back she went into the snow
Only caring her child not die.

She made her way to the diner
Half naked in the ice and snow.
How she felt deep within
Only other mothers would know.

Her bone cold hands pushed the door
As her half frozen body fell in.
Seven patrons jumped up asking
What happened, where and when?

She told them of her child's birth
And the place where he could be found.
Then out the door they all ran
Following her trail on the ground

Now that baby is thirty-five
And stands at the spot he was born.
My mother died so I would survive
Her loss I will forever mourn.

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