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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 must be honest, being new to this poetry, I do not understand half the terms describing types of poems, hence you will see a lot of, ' I do not know,' At the moment on my local BBC radio station they are talking about The Spitfire. Of course I've written a poem about the Spitfire. This is between page 56 and 58 of my first poetry book. I think I've mentioned elsewhere I have a beach hut at Felixstowe. You may not know where it is, but I'm sure the vandals do, as they have visited it twice, so you could always ask them. Occasionally, when there lounging in a deck chair, one hears the sound of an aeroplane passing overhead. I know it's a Spitfire. I won't embarrass the lady pilot here, because she might dive bomb me lol. The Spitfire. Them Spitfires with those brave men in, flew up oh so high. Into the bright blue, clear, good old English sky. Not knowing if it was today they'd die. Butt still in their Spitfires, they did fly. The Spitfire was the plane that's true. Jerry wanted, that kind too. That they had none so we ruled the air. Of the Battle of Britain, high up there. I guess we'll remember, that final day. But many men, before did die. Flying so high and fighting too. As that's what men, in Spitfires did do. Some men, returned, to fight again. Some landed, their battered plane. Other men, injured, had to refrain. From fighting, until they were fit again. Bombers also did their part. Ripping the enemy apart. Took a pasting, some did do. Bailing out as had to do. So all airmen, where'er you are. On land, or high up, neath the stars. Thanks for all that you did do. I cannot say more of you. Brave allies, you all as well. Hope your in heaven, not in hell. And when your life, is finally spent. From fighting, or old age, you went. All united, now might be. Your names will live in history. Never will we, you forget. What you gave in the war, and yet. Would give so much, I do not lie. For you to live, and not have died. Alas a bullet from a gun. If your number is it upon. I guess you know what it did do. And hope your in paradise too. Hark the sound a Spitfire flies. Surely now no one will die. As they did seventy-five years ago. As they took off, how could they know? That final day, as they did fly. The Germans advance, did surely die. All because, our brave young men. Took them Spitfires, up again.< Where'er you are, what air you do. No one will, forget you. As you in Spitfires, flew so high. Our memories also, will not die.

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The Spitfire

>I must be honest, being new to this poetry, I do not understand half the terms describing types of poems, hence you will see a lot of, ' I do not know,' At the moment on my local BBC radio station they are talking about The Spitfire. Of course I've written a poem about the Spitfire. This is between page 56 and 58 of my first poetry book. I think I've mentioned elsewhere I have a beach hut at Felixstowe. You may not know where it is, but I'm sure the vandals do, as they have visited it twice, so you could always ask them. Occasionally, when there lounging in a deck chair, one hears the sound of an aeroplane passing overhead. I know it's a Spitfire. I won't embarrass the lady pilot here, because she might dive bomb me lol. The Spitfire. Them Spitfires with those brave men in, flew up oh so high. Into the bright blue, clear, good old English sky. Not knowing if it was today they'd die. Butt still in their Spitfires, they did fly. The Spitfire was the plane that's true. Jerry wanted, that kind too. That they had none so we ruled the air. Of the Battle of Britain, high up there. I guess we'll remember, that final day. But many men, before did die. Flying so high and fighting too. As that's what men, in Spitfires did do. Some men, returned, to fight again. Some landed, their battered plane. Other men, injured, had to refrain. From fighting, until they were fit again. Bombers also did their part. Ripping the enemy apart. Took a pasting, some did do. Bailing out as had to do. So all airmen, where'er you are. On land, or high up, neath the stars. Thanks for all that you did do. I cannot say more of you. Brave allies, you all as well. Hope your in heaven, not in hell. And when your life, is finally spent. From fighting, or old age, you went. All united, now might be. Your names will live in history. Never will we, you forget. What you gave in the war, and yet. Would give so much, I do not lie. For you to live, and not have died. Alas a bullet from a gun. If your number is it upon. I guess you know what it did do. And hope your in paradise too. Hark the sound a Spitfire flies. Surely now no one will die. As they did seventy-five years ago. As they took off, how could they know? That final day, as they did fly. The Germans advance, did surely die. All because, our brave young men. Took them Spitfires, up again.< Where'er you are, what air you do. No one will, forget you. As you in Spitfires, flew so high. Our memories also, will not die.