I'm often separated by color. In the past I'd be in farms and fields, but now I'm a many in factories. I'm beated and I'm whipped, but I don't bleed. We used to be sold by the dozens, but now, it's harder come to buy us.

I am the only herb that heals all wounds

I’m wielded by hands but not for crafting art. One form tills the soil, while the other may break hearts. What am I?

I wear a cap but have no head, I sleep in earth, my leafy bed. Though small and round, I hold great might one day I'll grow to touch the light.

I tell the time, but don’t tick or tock, I use the sun to make my mark. By day I’m helpful, by night I rest, What am I, at nature's behest?