Riddles - A thousand colored folds stretch toward the sky, Atop a tender strand, Rising from the land, 'Til killed by maiden's hand, Perhaps a token of love, perhaps to say goodbye. What am I?

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A thousand colored folds stretch toward the sky, Atop a tender strand, Rising from the land, 'Til killed by maiden's hand, Perhaps a token of love, perhaps to say goodbye. What am I?

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