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.
A house of wood in a hidden place. Built without nails or glue. High above the earthen ground. It holds pale gems of blue.
At the sound of me, one may dream or stamp their feet, At the sound of me, one may laugh or sometimes weep.
A house full, a yard full, a chimney full, no one can get a spoonful.
Mountains will crumble and temples will fall. And no man can survive its endless call.
I can only be played on a windy day