When will it be my season

I hear it all the time,
Often spoken in rhyme,
“For everything there is a reason”,
“For everything there is a season”,
Yet my days are winter filled,
My wounds are never healed,
Summer never comes my way,
No matter how I fast and pray.

I see others who bask in the sunlight,
Their lives are day and never night,
Yet not once have they bent their knees,
To utter prayers such as these,
Not once have they prayed in thanks,
Yet full are their tanks,
After all my hard work is done,
When will my summer come.

When will it be my season,
When will my name be the reason,
When shall my name be spoken in rhyme,
And my deeds remembered through time,
When will the snow melt,
When shall joy in this heart be felt,
I bend my knees and pray everyday,
That my summer will arrive some day.