Answer:
They have not flesh, nor feathers, nor scales, nor bone. Yet they have fingers and thumbs of their own.
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 tiny bead, like fragile glass, strung along a cord of grass.
A skin have I, more eyes than one. I can be very nice when I am done.
Take one out and scratch my head I am now black but once was red.
What did the piece of wood say when he saw the screwdriver and screws approaching?