Answer:
Walk on the living, they don’t even mumble, Walk on the dead, they mutter and grumble. What are they?
A kind of weather that comes your way, but add a "D" and it will run away
I am always in front of you, but you will never see me. What am I?
The more of it there is, the less you see.
Put into a pit, locked beneath a grate, guarded through the night, yet it still goes out.
I’m grown from darkness but shine with a pale light. Very round I am and always a lady's delight.