Answer:
When it comes in, From sea to shore, Twenty paces you'll see, No less, no more.
What grows in winter, dies in summer, and grows roots upward?
The more you take, the more you leave behind.
You get many of me, but never enough. After the last one, your life soon will snuff. You may have one of me but one day a year, When the last one is gone, your life disappears.
Two horses, swiftest traveling, harnessed in a pair, and grazing ever in places. Distant from them.
I am used for light yet I am solid. Without me you would feel enclosed. I hate being touched especially with a lot of force. I like to be in buildings.