Papa, please get the moon for me.
Before Monica went to bed she looked out of her window and saw the moon.
The moon looked so near.
“I wish I could play with the moon,” thought Monica,
and reached for it.
But no matter how much she stretched, she could not touch the moon.
“Papa,” said Monica to her father, “Please get the moon for me.”
Papa got a very long ladder.
He carried the very long ladder towards a very high mountain.
Then Papa put on the very long ladder on top of the very high mountain.
Up and up and up he climbed.
Finally, Papa got to the moon.
“My daughter Monica would like to play with you, but you are much too big” said Papa
“Every night I get a little smaller,” said the moon.
“When I am just the right size you can take me with you.”
And, indeed, the moon got smaller...
and smaller...
and smaller.
When the moon was just the right size, Papa took it.
Down and down and down he climbed.
“Here,” said Papa to Monica,
“I have the moon for you.”
Monica jumped and danced with the moon.
She hugged the moon and threw it into the air.
But the moon kept getting smaller... and smaller...and smaller.
And finally it disappeared altogether.
Then, one night, Monica saw a thin sliver of the moon reappear.
Each night the moon grew...
and grew...
and grew.