Answer:
Reaching stiffly for the sky, I bare my fingers when its cold. In warmth I wear an emerald glove and in between I dress in gold.
A thousand colored folds stretch toward the sky. Atop a tender strand, rising from the land, until killed by maiden's hand. Perhaps a token of love, perhaps to say goodbye.
A seed am I, three letters make my name. Take away two and I still sound the same.
Fatherless and motherless. Born without sin, roared when it came into the world. And never spoke again.
Whoever makes it, tells it not. Whoever takes it, knows it not. And whoever knows it wants it not
I’m grown from darkness but shine with a pale light. Very round I am and always a lady's delight.