Automatic

We never think of how we breathe Unless we’re stuck with asthma; And who wastes thoughts on blood, unless We’re weak and needing plasma? We use our eyes to focus ‘Til we suddenly can’t see; And run for tennis balls until There’s pain inside the knee. If things are fine, our bodies Let us run on automatic, But unexpected changes may make Life a bit traumatic. And so we switch to manual And contemplate each move, Until we get the hang of things And settle in a groove. For when our gears begin to go We must accept the fact That no one gets through life with all Their body parts intact.