What does a mouse do when it can no longer figure the loops of the maze?

When the endless chase sends it into a daze?

Eventually the scenery must get so hard to bare

Someday that treat at the end will cease to make them care

The clock in their hearts will steady its ticking

Their legs once so quick will leisure their kicking

The old lively spirit will gradually fade

The actions of its life will soon be weighed

I guess the constant monotonous race numbers its days

But tell me, what does a person do when they give up on the maze?