Comment : 
He know's how to say Welcome in many a language. And announces, with the regularity of a Swiss Cuckoo Clock, the hour of the meals... But in the ear of those whom he liked, he would sometimes slide in a poem from Baudelaire, memories of his former Master who enjoyed reciting in his bath.

Comment : 
Because of what I just saw... The Great Wall and the twisted pine, The Tea shop and the Forbidden City... The bird had flown over them too. His wings were tired, My feet in pain. We are two travelers. It was the last biscuit.

Comment : 
One hour passed by. Or maybe one second.

Comment : 
It happens in the Blue House. As every morning, He greets the Sun, She says hello to the Pussycat. Perfection is on this earth : evenly soft and fair, at this very hour.