My face looks at the sky, my finger points but never touches. I whisper the hour without a sound. What am I?

Peel me away and the treasure is free, Around corn and grains, you’ll often find me.

I borrow the moon, stars sprinkle the sky, while owls start to hoot and the bats flutter by.

Let me and my Bambis exist in peace in the woods. If you don’t, you risk getting fatally impaled with one of these.

I’m a home where feathers dwell, Where wings may flutter, chirp, and swell. I have no nests upon the tree, Yet many birds may live in me. My walls keep wandering wings in sight, A little kingdom built for flight. What am I?