On a quiet balcony, where little flowers grew in brown pots, lived a tiny firefly named Flick. Flick was very small. He had two little wings and a soft yellow light on his tummy.

When the sky turned dark, Flick's light turned on. Glow, glow, glow.

Flick flew up. He flew slowly. Up, up, up.

He flew to a red flower. The flower was sleepy. Its petals were closing.

"Goodnight, red flower," said Flick.

Flick flew to a purple flower. The purple flower was sleepy too.

"Goodnight, purple flower," said Flick.

Flick flew higher. He saw the big round moon in the sky. The moon was soft and white.

"Goodnight, moon," said Flick.

The moon glowed back. Soft, soft, soft.

Flick flew back down to his favourite green leaf. The leaf was wide and smooth. It was Flick's little bed.

Flick landed gently on the leaf. He tucked his tiny wings close.

His yellow light grew dimmer. Dim, dim, dim.

The night was quiet. The flowers were asleep. The moon was watching.

Flick closed his tiny eyes.

Goodnight, flowers. Goodnight, moon. Goodnight, Flick.