Answer:
The root tops the trunk on this backward thing, that grows in the winter and dies in the spring.
They're up near the sky, on something very tall. Sometimes they die, only then do they fall.
Reaching stiffly for the sky, I bare my fingers when its cold. In warmth I wear an emerald glove and in between I dress in gold.
I'm flat. You use me everyday. You need me to live. But you give me away everyday. I'm coloured and I have a founding father on me. What am I?
Upon me you can tread, though softly under cover. And I will take you places, that you have yet to discover. I'm high, and I'm low, though flat in the middle. And though a joy to the children, adults think of me little.
I can only be played on a windy day