Wanderlust

[Verse]
Morning stroll to the peak of Purple Pavilion,
Evening rest in the village below the mountain.
The village elder sees me with delight,
Opens a jar of wine for me with all his might.

Raising the cup, I haven't taken a sip,
Suddenly a stranger bursts in through the door's grip.
Clad in purple, armed with dagger and axe,
Followed by a dozen men in their tracks.

They snatch the wine from my seat, the food from my plate,
The host steps back, but I stay calm and wait.
In the courtyard stands a peculiar tree,
Thirty years it grew, cherished by me.

But the host, in a fit, takes an axe to its base,
I'm known as a craftsman, a soldier in grace.
"Host, be careful, do not speak,
For the captain holds power, his favor we seek."