Answer:
I have legs but never walk, I may have flowers but no soil, I hold food but never eat.
Take one out and scratch my head, I am now black but once was red.
All about the house, with his lady he dances, yet he always works, and never romances.
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.
At night I come without being fetched. By day I am lost without being stolen.
What is so fragile that saying its name breaks it?