In fields where clover bows to breeze, I run a Queendom that answers to no keys. My workers number in the thousands strong, They hum a wordless, tireless song. What am I?

I'm just one small part of the machine. I transfer motion from one part to another. What am I?

If you were on a pirate ship, you might have to walk this.

If an animal makes me at the mouth, rabies may come to mind. If a human makes me there, urgent help may not be far behind. Scrub soap to create me, then wash me away. I help carry the dirt at the end of the day.

No lock holds my keys, and no door holds my screen. Yet I am hinged all the same. What is my name?