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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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HISTORY IN POETRY REMEMBER, REMEMBER THE 5TH of NOVEMBER. The world still remembers Mr Guy Fawkes, who plotted to blow up the House of Lords. Tortured, guilty of treason, the story is told how he cheated The Hangman; he jumped off the scaffold. A broken neck did not appease the Crown, who hung and quartered all foes of renown. In response, a decree that all people remember the failed plot; a holiday, for the 5th of November! Children hunt while mothers groan, ‘Why can’t we be left alone? All we want is a place to rest, But all we hear is, ‘Where’s Grandpa’s vest? You want those old trousers I threw out, and those old shoes, with their soles half out? If I threw them out, then they’re no good, So please be quiet you know you should.’ ‘We won’t be noisy; we will be good. We’re looking for two long bits of wood.’ ‘Hey Mum, we found these sticks, in the bombed out houses. Can we have Dad’s old coat; and those old trousers?’ Stuffed with paper, gosh, he’s fat! The bonfire’s ready, but where’s Guy’s hat? Oh there it is, stuck fast in that briar, Now Guy Fawkes was ready for our street’s Bon-Fire. We couldn’t bother Mum, and Dad was at his works, but, we needed money to buy fireworks. ‘Penny for the Guy, Mister,’ we called outside the shop, ‘we must have some crackers when we put him up top.’ Bangers and Jumping Jacks, were thrown on the ground to give a fright and a scare as all dodged around. There were bottles with rockets that fly to the sky. There were hands in pockets; warm and dry. The flames rose high, we could see through the fire. The Guy stood up on his funeral pyre. He cannot jump off that pile of wood; he’s tied tight to the chair that used to be good. On the chair’s legs, we all scratched our names, And remember the reason as it goes up in flames. Guy Fawkes, on barrels of gun powder; a patsy for the treasonable reasons of Robert Catesby. Remember, remember the 5th of November not for the gunpowder, the treason or the plot. Betrayed, found guilty, Fawkes cheated being slaughtered. By the government who wanted him drawn and quartered, but Guy Fawkes? He died his way, whether they liked it or not.

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History In Poetry-

HISTORY IN POETRY REMEMBER, REMEMBER THE 5TH of NOVEMBER. The world still remembers Mr Guy Fawkes, who plotted to blow up the House of Lords. Tortured, guilty of treason, the story is told how he cheated The Hangman; he jumped off the scaffold. A broken neck did not appease the Crown, who hung and quartered all foes of renown. In response, a decree that all people remember the failed plot; a holiday, for the 5th of November! Children hunt while mothers groan, ‘Why can’t we be left alone? All we want is a place to rest, But all we hear is, ‘Where’s Grandpa’s vest? You want those old trousers I threw out, and those old shoes, with their soles half out? If I threw them out, then they’re no good, So please be quiet you know you should.’ ‘We won’t be noisy; we will be good. We’re looking for two long bits of wood.’ ‘Hey Mum, we found these sticks, in the bombed out houses. Can we have Dad’s old coat; and those old trousers?’ Stuffed with paper, gosh, he’s fat! The bonfire’s ready, but where’s Guy’s hat? Oh there it is, stuck fast in that briar, Now Guy Fawkes was ready for our street’s Bon-Fire. We couldn’t bother Mum, and Dad was at his works, but, we needed money to buy fireworks. ‘Penny for the Guy, Mister,’ we called outside the shop, ‘we must have some crackers when we put him up top.’ Bangers and Jumping Jacks, were thrown on the ground to give a fright and a scare as all dodged around. There were bottles with rockets that fly to the sky. There were hands in pockets; warm and dry. The flames rose high, we could see through the fire. The Guy stood up on his funeral pyre. He cannot jump off that pile of wood; he’s tied tight to the chair that used to be good. On the chair’s legs, we all scratched our names, And remember the reason as it goes up in flames. Guy Fawkes, on barrels of gun powder; a patsy for the treasonable reasons of Robert Catesby. Remember, remember the 5th of November not for the gunpowder, the treason or the plot. Betrayed, found guilty, Fawkes cheated being slaughtered. By the government who wanted him drawn and quartered, but Guy Fawkes? He died his way, whether they liked it or not.

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