A young Firefly hung at the edge of the meadow and looked up at the Moon, who filled the whole sky with silver. "Why should I bother to shine," she sighed, "when my little lamp is nothing beside yours?" And she let her light go dark.
At once a small voice cried out below her. A beetle had tumbled onto his back in the black grass and could not find his way over. "Please," he called, "I have lost the path — and the Moon is too far to help me."
So the Firefly lit her lamp again, and to the beetle it was the brightest thing in the world.
She led him home through the stems, one soft green flash at a time, while far above the Moon smiled and thought: the largest light cannot reach every dark corner — that is why she made the small ones.
A small light, kept burning, outshines a great one that has gone out.