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Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.

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Patient clasps of hands, a master’s apprentice fumbling slimy worms in swirling streams, brook trout laughing at my folly. Atop of your back, sun soothing heavy eyelids stuffed like cottonballs, while the slow steady cadence of slumbering trails burst colors of orange, yellow, red explosions of fall. You taught me how to wrestle with foxtails, exhaling wishes from dandelions: "pay careful attention to the paintbrush" Nature’s way of flaming the death of summer’s call. My heart racing as we watched mother doe, gentle, nibble the tear-soaked tips of grass. Your inner compass never forgetting home, dizziness as we gazed heavenward at the ancient crowns reaching the pearlescent skies. You taught me mossy beards, north slope, fir, shelter from the cold, the best branch for a fire, instructions for a son. Silence forging sacred breath, your hands crackled like autumn leaves, draped in mine, melting the embedded calluses of fragility, eyes turned grey calling the paint brush of fall. Still just a child secured upon your back, peanut butter fingerprints pressing in time, "daddy, what if I cannot find home" looking down with saucer-wide eyes, I can still hear your voice: "be still, wait, I will always find you."

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From a Father, From a Son

Patient clasps of hands, a master’s apprentice fumbling slimy worms in swirling streams, brook trout laughing at my folly. Atop of your back, sun soothing heavy eyelids stuffed like cottonballs, while the slow steady cadence of slumbering trails burst colors of orange, yellow, red explosions of fall. You taught me how to wrestle with foxtails, exhaling wishes from dandelions: "pay careful attention to the paintbrush" Nature’s way of flaming the death of summer’s call. My heart racing as we watched mother doe, gentle, nibble the tear-soaked tips of grass. Your inner compass never forgetting home, dizziness as we gazed heavenward at the ancient crowns reaching the pearlescent skies. You taught me mossy beards, north slope, fir, shelter from the cold, the best branch for a fire, instructions for a son. Silence forging sacred breath, your hands crackled like autumn leaves, draped in mine, melting the embedded calluses of fragility, eyes turned grey calling the paint brush of fall. Still just a child secured upon your back, peanut butter fingerprints pressing in time, "daddy, what if I cannot find home" looking down with saucer-wide eyes, I can still hear your voice: "be still, wait, I will always find you."