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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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They sit at benches; Small legs swing above Green industrial tile. They sit at benches; Thin arms cross around Frail, frightened bodies. They sit at benches; Lips thinned upon Tightly clenched teeth. They sit at benches; Down-cast eyes inside Sunken, hollow faces. They sit at benches; Tiny fists clutch at The narrow rail. They sit at benches; Pale chins duck into Quivering throats. They do not look up As I enter the room, They do not dare To hope. They do not smile When I say ‘hello’, They do not dare To care. They do not answer When I ask their name, They do not dare To speak. These children, Belonging to no one, Sit at benches In defeated postures Waiting for fate To deliver them onward. $25,000 would not rescue these children. Perhaps, used wisely, it would feed them or clothe them in some small measure. But their need is truly far greater than anything money could provide. These are the lost children. They are my children and your children; yet they are no one’s children. They wait for foster homes, for court orders sending them back to abusive homes and fighting parents. They wait for the bus to take them back to state funded orphanages. They wait for the well-meaning social worker to tell them their mother is not coming for them today. They wait for the well-meaning social worker to tell them their mother will never come again. They wait for the sound of the door shutting, the lock turning, and the silence. These are the lost children. Perhaps I could sponsor a contest awarding $25,000 to the person who came up with a solution to care for the 150 million children who are homeless today. Children who are called ‘community children’ by the United Nations, who gives us the latest information on their numbers. 150 million lost children. What do we do with these children. These children who cry themselves to sleep. These children who no longer cry because they no longer have the tears. These children who no longer cry because they have given up all hope and now simply accept their fate for what it will be. These children sit at benches. They sit on street corners. They sit in burned out buildings. They sit under bridges. They sit in subway stations. They sit in condemned houses. They sit in wards, in hospitals, in agencies, in police stations, in jails, in children’s homes... I hand each of these children an equal measure of my allotted $25,000 I hand each of these children their .00017 portion of one penny

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They Sit At Benches

They sit at benches; Small legs swing above Green industrial tile. They sit at benches; Thin arms cross around Frail, frightened bodies. They sit at benches; Lips thinned upon Tightly clenched teeth. They sit at benches; Down-cast eyes inside Sunken, hollow faces. They sit at benches; Tiny fists clutch at The narrow rail. They sit at benches; Pale chins duck into Quivering throats. They do not look up As I enter the room, They do not dare To hope. They do not smile When I say ‘hello’, They do not dare To care. They do not answer When I ask their name, They do not dare To speak. These children, Belonging to no one, Sit at benches In defeated postures Waiting for fate To deliver them onward. $25,000 would not rescue these children. Perhaps, used wisely, it would feed them or clothe them in some small measure. But their need is truly far greater than anything money could provide. These are the lost children. They are my children and your children; yet they are no one’s children. They wait for foster homes, for court orders sending them back to abusive homes and fighting parents. They wait for the bus to take them back to state funded orphanages. They wait for the well-meaning social worker to tell them their mother is not coming for them today. They wait for the well-meaning social worker to tell them their mother will never come again. They wait for the sound of the door shutting, the lock turning, and the silence. These are the lost children. Perhaps I could sponsor a contest awarding $25,000 to the person who came up with a solution to care for the 150 million children who are homeless today. Children who are called ‘community children’ by the United Nations, who gives us the latest information on their numbers. 150 million lost children. What do we do with these children. These children who cry themselves to sleep. These children who no longer cry because they no longer have the tears. These children who no longer cry because they have given up all hope and now simply accept their fate for what it will be. These children sit at benches. They sit on street corners. They sit in burned out buildings. They sit under bridges. They sit in subway stations. They sit in condemned houses. They sit in wards, in hospitals, in agencies, in police stations, in jails, in children’s homes... I hand each of these children an equal measure of my allotted $25,000 I hand each of these children their .00017 portion of one penny