Answer:
What flares up and does a lot of good, and when it dies is just a piece of wood?
We are all around, yet to us you are half blind. Sunlight makes us invisible, and difficult to find
Some live in me, some live on. And some shave me to stride upon. I rarely leave my native land. Until my death I always stand. High and low I may be found. Both above and below ground.
I can be used to type and point you see. But don't forget, you can count on me. What am I?
I am the outstretched fingers that seize and hold the wind. Wisdom flows from me in other hands. Upon me are sweet dreams dreamt, my merest touch brings laughter.
They are many and one, they wave and they drum, Used to cover a state, they go with you everywhere.