Answer:
Fuels backyard get-ยญtogethers
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.
Only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, and feeling no pain.
It's equally comfortable in an orchestra and a geometry textbook. What is it?
Walk on the living, they don't even mumble. Walk on the dead, they mutter and grumble.
What is always coming but never arrives?