By the light of an android torch,
down a pitch black path I went.
To a dark door, unsuspecting.
Fronds brushed my face.
I slowed, and stood in doubt.
Have I the right house?
Plucking up courage
from an empty store,
I found my feet did move some more.
I follow fading flagstones,
and there, in moonlit outline,
“Moria”, I think.
I move to step into the pale pool of moonlight,
but blunder into an unseen itchy web,
Snapping its strong strands,
I see, in periphery, its maker,
in seeming pensive regard of his prize.
The door opens.
A dwarf-sized figure appraises me, and giggles.
“Your pizza is here”, I say.