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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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required A wild flower, grew up through a crack in the pavement, I wondered, why already not trampled by so many preoccupied feet? Sat I down on a park-bench, further pondering this yellow charmer, to which I cordially gave greet -- “little tenant,” oh just missed another! Thinking I saw it, knowingly parry aside; (one wild flower, persistent, determined not its beauty to hide.) Unaware came a team of training joggers, in colorful, striped briefs; legs and tennis shoes thoughtlessly-trouncing-everywhere – Feared I this brave little trooper had finally been dealt its fatal wild share -- the wind of the runners' healthful, self-indulgent passing, seemed more a cyclone of careless, petulant stomping – no sense a little blossom would they spare! Deeply rooted in soil, it could not retreat, without vocal cords it could not plead a shriek – could not shield itself from such crushing, annihilating defeat. Sat there I a sad bit longer -- would not dare open my eyes, felt a tear slipping, my heart seeming knee-deep in morbid dripping. Smeared blossom, and grieving sunbeams, saw I like a funeral's dark-arm-band – a segment of my bright world, had just tragically ended...gone with the lone blossom's, last futile, floral stand – till a child opened my eyes, making me take peak, a sweet little voice, not the least tinge bleak, as they carefully parted: “Oh mother, isn’t that dandelion so dashingly chic!?
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