The third Monday in April, a tradition unfolds;

A storied footrace, along Boston’s great roads.

Just as spring settles in and blossoms show,

The Boston Marathon gets ready to go.

The runners flow in from far and wide;

And Boston’s welcome radiates pride.

We run to remember battles lost and won;

The entrant, K Switzer, with bib 261,

Who opened the door for women to run.

The memory of 13, that terrible wrong,

Lives on in the mantra: Boston Strong.

Dick and Rick Hoyt, who inspire us all;

Bill Rodgers, hometown hero, still standing tall.

Kelley, Salazar, Cheruyiot, DeMar:

Legends of running, but then so are

All the tens of thousands who toe that start line,

If only for these few hours of time.

Leaving Hopkinton for Boston, living a dream;

To run it is to know what this truly means.

Embraced by cheers, every inch of every mile;

When the going gets tough, they remind you to smile.

Through Ashland, Framingham, Natick and Wellesley,

Then the famed Newton Hills that unfold relentlessly,

Up over Heartbreak then down into the city,

The Citgo sign beckons, an ever-distant reality.

Past Fenway as Red Sox fans pour into the street,

Joining the throngs to encourage weary runners’ feet.

Just one mile to go, then the fabled turn:

Right on Hereford, left on Boylston, the finish you’ve earned.

The race may be over, but the memories will stay,

There is nowhere like Boston on Patriots’ Day.