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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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He heard the car and came running, Jumped and whirled in the air, Barking his happiness! Dad lifted her down in her yellow-flowered Camisole and high heeled shoes. The dog dropped, His hind quarters hunched down, Body sprung parallel to the ground, Ears laid back, hackles raised. He'll get used to you, Dad said, Tapping him with his foot. But he didn't. She was afraid. Big black shepherd, watching stalking. The dog lay there with the chain Stretched out, eyes riveted On the back door of the house. She didn't like it. What if he gets loose When you're not here? I can't even go to the garden Without his eyes on my back! Dad put a piece of meat in her hand. The black nose ever so slightly withdrew. -Eat it, growled Dad, and he did With a long slow tongue, Looking up from under reproachful brows. But it was spoiled. Dad couldn't stand it that The dog wouldn't mind. He kicked it and it trailed after him, But still froze when the woman came outside. He just couldn't give it up. They had to shoot the dog. The yellow and brown and red leaves Were falling and sticking together On the path into the woods. A light drizzle added to the metallic shine. They walked along the slippery surface, The two of them, With the rifle and the spade. The dog jogged on ahead, Looking back over his shoulder, Smiling at the routine he is familiar with. It only takes a minute Once you reach the back fence. You have to do it fast if you're going to. You can talk out-loud afterward, Explaining while you dig him in. That way he doesn't have to see it. The ground is not yet frozen. Dad smooths it over and already Leaves begin to drift across the bare soil. Deliberately, one by one, He places his feet on the returning path, Looking up through the sketches Of black tree limbs against the sky. He feels stiff and sore. Leaning the gun against the grain bin, He pulls down a bottle From the low rafter overhead. A couple of swigs before he goes inside. This is not the story they told me. The dog's name was Rex. Dad pointed to an old photograph In the box of old photographs. -Good ol' Rex, he said.

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Good Ol' Rex

He heard the car and came running, Jumped and whirled in the air, Barking his happiness! Dad lifted her down in her yellow-flowered Camisole and high heeled shoes. The dog dropped, His hind quarters hunched down, Body sprung parallel to the ground, Ears laid back, hackles raised. He'll get used to you, Dad said, Tapping him with his foot. But he didn't. She was afraid. Big black shepherd, watching stalking. The dog lay there with the chain Stretched out, eyes riveted On the back door of the house. She didn't like it. What if he gets loose When you're not here? I can't even go to the garden Without his eyes on my back! Dad put a piece of meat in her hand. The black nose ever so slightly withdrew. -Eat it, growled Dad, and he did With a long slow tongue, Looking up from under reproachful brows. But it was spoiled. Dad couldn't stand it that The dog wouldn't mind. He kicked it and it trailed after him, But still froze when the woman came outside. He just couldn't give it up. They had to shoot the dog. The yellow and brown and red leaves Were falling and sticking together On the path into the woods. A light drizzle added to the metallic shine. They walked along the slippery surface, The two of them, With the rifle and the spade. The dog jogged on ahead, Looking back over his shoulder, Smiling at the routine he is familiar with. It only takes a minute Once you reach the back fence. You have to do it fast if you're going to. You can talk out-loud afterward, Explaining while you dig him in. That way he doesn't have to see it. The ground is not yet frozen. Dad smooths it over and already Leaves begin to drift across the bare soil. Deliberately, one by one, He places his feet on the returning path, Looking up through the sketches Of black tree limbs against the sky. He feels stiff and sore. Leaning the gun against the grain bin, He pulls down a bottle From the low rafter overhead. A couple of swigs before he goes inside. This is not the story they told me. The dog's name was Rex. Dad pointed to an old photograph In the box of old photographs. -Good ol' Rex, he said.