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.
Enter Title (Not Required)
Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 'Way high up the Mogollons, Among the mountain tops, A lion cleaned a yearlin's bones And licked his thankful chops, When on the picture who should ride, A-trippin' down a slope, But High-Chin Bob, with sinful pride And mav'rick-hungry rope. "_Oh, glory be to me," says he,_ "_And fame's unfadin' flowers!_ _All meddlin' hands are far away;_ _I ride my good top-hawse today_ _And I'm top-rope of the Lazy J----_ _Hi! kitty cat, you're ours!_" That lion licked his paw so brown And dreamed soft dreams of veal-- And then the circlin' loop sung down And roped him 'round his meal. He yowled quick fury to the world Till all the hills yelled back; The top-hawse gave a snort and whirled And Bob caught up the slack. "_Oh, glory be to me," laughs he._ "_We hit the glory trail._ _No human man as I have read_ _Darst loop a ragin' lion's head,_ _Nor ever hawse could drag one dead_ _Until we told the tale._" 'Way high up the Mogollons That top-hawse done his best, Through whippin' brush and rattlin' stones, From canyon-floor to crest. But ever when Bob turned and hoped A limp remains to find, A red-eyed lion, belly roped But healthy, loped behind. "_Oh, glory be to me" grunts he._ "_This glory trail is rough,_ _Yet even till the Judgment Morn_ _I'll keep this dally 'round the horn,_ _For never any hero born_ _Could stoop to holler: Nuff!_'" Three suns had rode their circle home Beyond the desert's rim, And turned their star-herds loose to roam The ranges high and dim; Yet up and down and 'round and 'cross Bob pounded, weak and wan, For pride still glued him to his hawse And glory drove him on. "_Oh, glory be to me," sighs he._ "_He kaint be drug to death,_ _But now I know beyond a doubt_ _Them heroes I have read about_ _Was only fools that stuck it out_ _To end of mortal breath._" 'Way high up the Mogollons A prospect man did swear That moon dreams melted down his bones And hoisted up his hair: A ribby cow-hawse thundered by, A lion trailed along, A rider, ga'nt but chin on high, Yelled out a crazy song. "_Oh, glory be to me!" cries he,_ "_And to my noble noose!_ _Oh, stranger, tell my pards below_ _I took a rampin' dream in tow,_ _And if I never lay him low,_ _I'll never turn him loose!_"
Enter Author Name (Not Required)