Western East

If I lived in mushroom shoes, could I, would I, feed?
If I fed then what of it, clean in welding deeds.
Climbing up the green pontoon, the great green camel dog,
Left of china, up the garlic, eating dying frog.
When the seahorse rode the cow, I eat from off his back.
Niggle at his back front ear, making manners lack.
Bringing perfume, eating pea, riding on my flea,
Jumping, dumping, eating, beating, eggs all over me.
Jousting with the knights of old, winning with a fox,
Mangled Eddie Murphys started to jump out of a box.
A chainsaw riding bull-cross-bear, came bounding o'er mount,
Slaughtered every single one, except for leaning count.
Burglars shining unto house, met with big black deer,
Running, leaping, bounding out, noses filled with fear.
Severed nostrils from the grave, mangled hands escaping.
Civil servants frozen still, mouths wide open, gaping.
Out riding on a dolphin, green, the hostess made a toast,
"Green lantern isn't truly green, it's blue that he is most."
Whipping striding horses go, climbing into pods.
Eating, spilling giant greens, flying fishing rods.
Back into my mushroom shoes, that's action for today.
Action more I'll ever need, till I am old and grey.

Abandon all common sense before reading the poem. I needed you to see this first, so I put it at the bottom.
G'day, peasant folk.