Pavarotti retains a kind of religious, mystical, commitment to his "work.”And he insists on referring to it as "work,” claiming: "You can always love your work; your profession, at best, you can exercise.”Few people realize that the joyful tenor, the man who is always smiling, is almost a cloistered monk . . .
I traveled light years
Through cosmic storms and dust,
Only to find you sleeping
on your simple cot.
Stepping back,
I folded,
Quietly,
My gray ragged wings.
I could see why he chose you,
The glow of your pure breath...
I didn’t mean to frighten you,
Just wanted to keep looking...
I wanted to breathe in your innocent air,
Look at your soft,
Surrendered hands...
Another second ...
Before I told you the news.