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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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Bedbound, your mind still poked through the morphine haze to register a world which had shrunk to a hospice room with Dad dying with you in a bed a few untaken steps away. You had withered to a small, elongated bump embossed in bed sheets. Anxious to go, you kept asking, " How long now ". " Soon Mum, soon, not long now", I would answer, feeling bad for failing to be more precise. Dad would bite down hard on his welling tears. You were expected to go first. Dad bore his killer under cover, keeping the pain to himself, yet it came quick and took him in his sleep. We had to tell you he had died a mere metre from where you lay. We helped you out of bed to give Dad your parting kiss. He always wanted to go first and thankfully got his way. His greatest fear was losing you. You were the stronger, more stoic one. Two weeks later you were dead. We had to give a solemn promise that there would be no eulogies for you both. You shared a hate of being publicly paraded, though without good reason. Humility taken too far can inhibit a family's need to voice their grief. Reluctantly we kept our word. Love ached beneath the silence and the loss seem to cut more deeply sharpened by being bound by just the facts. It's the first time I've written them down.

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Just the Facts

Bedbound, your mind still poked through the morphine haze to register a world which had shrunk to a hospice room with Dad dying with you in a bed a few untaken steps away. You had withered to a small, elongated bump embossed in bed sheets. Anxious to go, you kept asking, " How long now ". " Soon Mum, soon, not long now", I would answer, feeling bad for failing to be more precise. Dad would bite down hard on his welling tears. You were expected to go first. Dad bore his killer under cover, keeping the pain to himself, yet it came quick and took him in his sleep. We had to tell you he had died a mere metre from where you lay. We helped you out of bed to give Dad your parting kiss. He always wanted to go first and thankfully got his way. His greatest fear was losing you. You were the stronger, more stoic one. Two weeks later you were dead. We had to give a solemn promise that there would be no eulogies for you both. You shared a hate of being publicly paraded, though without good reason. Humility taken too far can inhibit a family's need to voice their grief. Reluctantly we kept our word. Love ached beneath the silence and the loss seem to cut more deeply sharpened by being bound by just the facts. It's the first time I've written them down.