Carnival witchcraft

Venetian masks

Venice is the poet's love ... Masks.
Are they not to blame for
That in life we are like characters of a fairy tale,
Played out in the gray rain
But in bright decorations and colors.

The Middle Ages did not come in our days
Or the Plague has planned a new feast ...
End prologue? The beginning of the afterword
Everything that life itself has composed -
And without our prompts and conditions?

Oh, fortunately, no - not everything is so dull:
Beautiful Lady, cheerful Harlequin
And windy beauty - Columbine,
(Her Pierrot, rejected, loved,
He was without a mask, but ... what was was.)

But I'll get tired of being a sad "Clown"
Tom - "Cat", "Judge" - a scoundrel.
So who are we? Let's take a look at the Saints
And let's take off our masks so as not to play too much,

... not that they can grow to the face.