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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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I look to heaven no vision appears I see no pearly gates, no golden stairs. Close my eyes a deep breath pulls back the past, So that I can tell you how heaven smells. Heaven's kitchen my mother is cooking (With love and care) cooking her sweet oatmeal. I've tried many a bowl since she been gone, So that if the truth be for me to tell, Their's tasted poor not like my mother made. Those oats she cooked no longer do they sell. I remember the love cooked in her mush. How warm and loved her sweet oats made me feel. A cold north wind could bite at my thin skin Definitely she threw in face of cold, A bowl of oatmeal and warm winter coat. Twirl scarves around my neck, gave me a pat- A pat on bottom and a kiss on top "Careful -I love you" then to school I'd trot. She would pull down my cap over my ears, Run her slender fingers in my trim hair. I miss it -how? I was standing right there, My mother's sweet love, my sweet mother's care. How sharp the memories how deep they cut, Neither shelved by time, distance nor touch. I did not suspect. How I could not know? There was much more than oats in her sweet bowls. For the warmth I felt came from deep within. A mother's warm love could insulate more Than cold, cold wind. Someday my time will come For me there will be no burden or fear. At her table I will sit with the Angels We will feast on my mother's sweet oatmeal.

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Oatmeal

I look to heaven no vision appears I see no pearly gates, no golden stairs. Close my eyes a deep breath pulls back the past, So that I can tell you how heaven smells. Heaven's kitchen my mother is cooking (With love and care) cooking her sweet oatmeal. I've tried many a bowl since she been gone, So that if the truth be for me to tell, Their's tasted poor not like my mother made. Those oats she cooked no longer do they sell. I remember the love cooked in her mush. How warm and loved her sweet oats made me feel. A cold north wind could bite at my thin skin Definitely she threw in face of cold, A bowl of oatmeal and warm winter coat. Twirl scarves around my neck, gave me a pat- A pat on bottom and a kiss on top "Careful -I love you" then to school I'd trot. She would pull down my cap over my ears, Run her slender fingers in my trim hair. I miss it -how? I was standing right there, My mother's sweet love, my sweet mother's care. How sharp the memories how deep they cut, Neither shelved by time, distance nor touch. I did not suspect. How I could not know? There was much more than oats in her sweet bowls. For the warmth I felt came from deep within. A mother's warm love could insulate more Than cold, cold wind. Someday my time will come For me there will be no burden or fear. At her table I will sit with the Angels We will feast on my mother's sweet oatmeal.