Answer:
Four leaves I have.
My first is second in line; I send shivers up your spine; not quite shining bright I glitter in the light.
Man walks over, man walks under, in times of war he burns asunder. What is it?
I am black, white, and read all over. What am I?
Every night I'm told what to do, and each morning I do what I'm told. But I still don't escape your scold. What am I?
What do you purposefully put lots of in and on your body, but run away from when you encounter it outside?