Sale's Pitch To The Baby

Ah, the sales pitch to the baby--
Benefits of why I moved his cheese.
His tears are diapered with petulant immaturity,
And all of them are soiled.

"But come, let us negotiate."
His eyes instantly start to mature.
"What is it that you want from me?
What do I want from you?"

There! The offer's been laid out.
He who speaks first now will lose.
But I am growing woody,
Like a robust, herbaceous tree.

Darn, the cheese is shaking
In the winds of vulnerability.
I'm trying not to make a sound,
But my leaves are beginning to chatter.

This will throw me in the losers' bracket,
Where I'll live perennially
Lactose intolerant,
If that's any consolation.

Wah. Wah. Wah!