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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 see your silhouette, through my window, caught in the moon's light, on the far hill, as you sit alone, where the stone seat is. Once we were young lovers. You live on the cobbled road, where the stone gates are, and I, above the store where my father make shoes. I still carry the scars from those days, when we were young, innocent and fragile. You opened your heart, to a young lad, far beneath your station. That summer was alive. We picked fragrant wild flowers, taking turns placing them in our hair. We covered every meadow unseen, and swam naked in your father's lake, that lays below the hill, where the stone seat is, beneath the elm. It stormed the last time I saw you. The etched sadness on your face, covered in tears. Your fists pounding the chest of your father's man, as each stroke from his whip cut deep, deep in my back, screaming the words, you don't belong. My blood spilled that day, as I laid for hours, unable to move, balled up, rain pouring down, as the ground ran red. Over the years scars remain, tattooed reminders. As I look out my window and see your silhouette, under the moon's light, alone and haunting, I remain a store keepers son, Wondering, always wondering. While you sit alone, do you cry like I do?

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Face In the Window

I see your silhouette, through my window, caught in the moon's light, on the far hill, as you sit alone, where the stone seat is. Once we were young lovers. You live on the cobbled road, where the stone gates are, and I, above the store where my father make shoes. I still carry the scars from those days, when we were young, innocent and fragile. You opened your heart, to a young lad, far beneath your station. That summer was alive. We picked fragrant wild flowers, taking turns placing them in our hair. We covered every meadow unseen, and swam naked in your father's lake, that lays below the hill, where the stone seat is, beneath the elm. It stormed the last time I saw you. The etched sadness on your face, covered in tears. Your fists pounding the chest of your father's man, as each stroke from his whip cut deep, deep in my back, screaming the words, you don't belong. My blood spilled that day, as I laid for hours, unable to move, balled up, rain pouring down, as the ground ran red. Over the years scars remain, tattooed reminders. As I look out my window and see your silhouette, under the moon's light, alone and haunting, I remain a store keepers son, Wondering, always wondering. While you sit alone, do you cry like I do?

Book: Reflection on the Important Things