Answer:
At first I am a yellow weed in the lawn, and then the wind blows, and my white feathers are gone. What am I?
When they are caught, they are thrown away. When they escape, you itch all day.
I cost no money to use, or conscious effort to take part of. And as far as you can see, there is nothing to me. But without me, you are dead.
It is an arctic double breasted formal wear.
My life can be measured in hours, I serve by being devoured. Thin, I am quick. Fat, I am slow. Wind is my foe.
Almost everyone needs it, asks for it, gives it. But almost nobody takes it.