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.
Without a bridle, or a saddle, across a thing I ride a-straddle. And those I ride, by help of me, though almost blind, are made to see.
Two horses, swiftest traveling, harnessed in a pair, and grazing ever in places. Distant from them.
White bird, featherless, flying out of paradise. Flying over sea and land. Dying in my hand.
I fly through the air on small feathered wings, seeking out life and destroying all things.
People take me on walks and I run and have fun. What am I?