I sat on the floor, with the remote in my hand,
And made up for myself a brilliant plan:
I’d turn the tube off, go upstairs, and snore
If Ethan Bortnick was on PBS once more.
The Saturday Night Concert Series show starts,
With it’s boringly-familiar intro part.
Soon after the intro, I was surprised,
For what appears before my eyes?
Twas an archaic phonograph machine,
With a record producing a sound so clean.
The clean sound I heard was that of a singer,
Whose name would shortly hang around & linger:
Enrico Caruso was the singer’s name,
Classical opera was his claim to fame.
His songs would be done that night,
By another opera singer in the spotlight.
As the sun set over the coast of Amalfi,
Which is in Vico Equense in Italy,
Caruso’s music was done marvelously,
By a certain singer whose name was Pasquale.
Pasquale Esposito, with eyes & hair of brown,
Was born in Naples, the same Italian town
As Mr. Caruso, but that’s out of joint,
For my music tastes reached a turning point.
While he sang tunes like “Caruso” & “La Danza,”
I grew fascinated with each and every stanza.
I hadn’t heard most of these songs before,
But this special was better than taking a snore.
Pasquale sang with unbelievable grace,
That kept bringing smiles to my face.
When the show was done that night,
My fascination had reached it’s highest height.
Pasquale had become my latest fave,
For he introduced me to the music I now crave.