Answer:
Each morning I appear to lie at your feet, all day I follow no matter how fast you run. Yet I nearly perish in the midday sun.
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.
I have legs but never walk, I may have flowers but no soil, I hold food but never eat.
I count time, but have no end. Tick tick, but I am not a clock. What am I?
What kind of room has no windows or doors?
What covers its face with its hands, speaks no language, yet most known what it's saying?