The little maiden came into the courtyard. The branches with roses
arisen from her head caused her to be careful when she went through the
door. Another little guy was sat there, in a patch of grass, looking at a
fluttering butterfly whose role had been sidelined with the girl's
entrance. Some of the green leaves hanging from the branches that
stretched and bent over the girl’s head were swept away by a gust of
chilly wind. He squatted to try to grasp some of them, but suddenly the
boy gasped and coughed. A flood of dandelions fled from his mouth
through every effort to breathe, whereas all the seeds were scattered
into the air. He raised his head as shame gripped him, but she was
gazing at him with a grin in her face: all the kids in that place were
special, yet they would never become adults.