Meb Boston 2014


Through clamorous towns at a headlong pace,

You raced this day into Copley Place,

Where with arm thrust high,

And church bells pealing,

You wear a wreath of glory,

Though head still reeling.


The distance you ushered,

The pain you endured,

Your flag now flutters,

Must all seem a blur.


But honor’s all yours,

This Patriot’s Day,

In this oldest of marathons,

As men shout, “Hooray!”


And though crusted with salt,

Legs seized with fatigue,

The scene’s one to savor,

As you recall the intrigue. Continue reading