Answer:
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.
He stands beside the road. In a purple cap at tattered green cloak. Those who touch him, curse him.
When set loose I fly away. Never so cursed as when I go astray.
What hangs others yet can unintentionally hang itself?
What can be swallowed, But can also swallow you?
Almost everyone needs it, asks for it, gives it. But almost nobody takes it.