Answer:
Whiling away the hours of flowers, Walking through fields of gold. Preening and pruning in lights fading hours, For petals to freeze in the cold. What is it?
Almost everyone needs it, asks for it, gives it. But almost nobody takes it.
What grows in winter, dies in summer, and grows roots upward?
Just head and foot yet never tires of dancing.
Upon me you can tread, though softly under cover. And I will take you places, that you have yet to discover. I'm high, and I'm low, though flat in the middle. And though a joy to the children, adults think of me little.
You use it between your head and your toes, the more it works the thinner it grows.