The Ballad of Barley Pettigrew - in Three Parts

I - Barley Pettigrew I'll tell you a story, outstandingly true, of the young lad called Barley Pettigrew. He was born with nine fingers on his hands. For how high he could count, it met his demands. You see, the townsfolk all say the doctor said he was born without anything in his head. It's not surprising that he dropped out of school. The teachers who taught him said he was a fool. I admit, the boy hadn't a lick of sense, but he threw a good frisbee, in his defense. He would always unscrew a jar for its lid. He threw anything round. That's what he did. II - Daisy Purvis Not far away, grew a young lass named Daisy. The townspeople said that she must be crazy. She had eleven fingers, by cursory count, The Lord thought for Daisy, 'twas a good amount. She spoke to nobody, never came to town. Her mysterious poetry was upside down. Conversing, as she did, only with the breeze, she would make exceptions for birds and bees. III - The National Frisbee Championship The frisbee championship in County Cork - the suspense was palpable, edible with a fork. There is a concept known as failure, it seems, but Barley showed up, not knowing what it means. He threw the platter in the air so high, passing birds remarked, "oh, how that thing does fly". The wind seemed to grab it. How it did float! It drifted 'til it landed in a field, remote. Then and only then, the townspeople knew, no one can toss frisbee like Barley Pettigrew. How they did it, nobody understands, Barley and Daisy, in a field, holding hands. If this tale ain't true, you could hear a squirrel sneeze. a sound I once heard, floating on the breeze.