Answer:
When it comes in, From sea to shore, Twenty paces you'll see, No less, no more.
The itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot variety is quite popular.
Within, I clean all that is bad and is old. I make juice thatโs the color of gold. Should I die, a filter machine would you need assembled to replace me and beans I resemble.
A home of wood in a wooded place, but built not by hand. High above the earthen ground, it holds its pale blue gems. What is it?
My sides are firmly laced about, Yet nothing is withinอพ You'll think my head is strange indeed, Being nothing else but skin.
In all the world, none can compare, I am a tiny weaver; my deadly cloth so silky and fair. What am I?