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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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There's a swing that is hung from a long oaken tree, By a string where the young have a longing to be. Where they fly to the sky, ever higher they go, Till they cry, "Not so high! I shall die, don't you know?" And they tread through the wold all around by the tree, Where it's said ruins old can be found by a key. How they thought many-a night how this fact could be true, And they fought to set right while they wracked in a crew; But they never could figure that blur in the tale, So they clamber with vigor the fir by the trail. They'd retrace to the place where the moss covered tree Like a face, beamed with grace as it tossed o'er the lea. Such a hold that tree held on their glad little selves As they trolled songs of eld with the bad little elves; And the song that they sing is a song specked with tears, Of a long oaken swing cast along through the years; Left alone by the lane, overgrown, never seen, Ever blown by the rain, with a groan deep and keen, Till a small little girl stopped a while on her way, And a tall oaken burl with a smile bade her stay. How she clove in a dive through the grove, and the tree, How it throve, came alive in the cove, in the lea. {Comments and critique by those knowledgeable about consonance vastly appreciated.}

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Oak Tree Swing

There's a swing that is hung from a long oaken tree, By a string where the young have a longing to be. Where they fly to the sky, ever higher they go, Till they cry, "Not so high! I shall die, don't you know?" And they tread through the wold all around by the tree, Where it's said ruins old can be found by a key. How they thought many-a night how this fact could be true, And they fought to set right while they wracked in a crew; But they never could figure that blur in the tale, So they clamber with vigor the fir by the trail. They'd retrace to the place where the moss covered tree Like a face, beamed with grace as it tossed o'er the lea. Such a hold that tree held on their glad little selves As they trolled songs of eld with the bad little elves; And the song that they sing is a song specked with tears, Of a long oaken swing cast along through the years; Left alone by the lane, overgrown, never seen, Ever blown by the rain, with a groan deep and keen, Till a small little girl stopped a while on her way, And a tall oaken burl with a smile bade her stay. How she clove in a dive through the grove, and the tree, How it throve, came alive in the cove, in the lea. {Comments and critique by those knowledgeable about consonance vastly appreciated.}