Answer:
White bird, featherless, flying out of paradise. Flying over sea and land. Dying in my hand.
I can be cracked, I can be made. I can be told, I can be played.
I'm not really more than holes tied to more holes. I'm strong as good steel, though not as stiff as a pole.
What has three ways out and just one way in?
I count time, but have no end. Tick tick, but I am not a clock. What am I?
People take me on walks and I run and have fun. What am I?