casting roses

once i saw a jumper standing on the bridge over the twirly cold waters of the Piscataqua river the only thing stopping him from falling into the cold dark drink was the arms of the emergency personnel wrapped tightly around him i happened to be following a friend to a meeting at seven o'clock that morning I could only spare a glance at the line of flashing lights in the rear view mirror later that afternoon on the way home there was no sign of his spell but I know that he stood right there and cast his roses the sunday whirl