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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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I Wait With Bated Breath... (slack jaw froze mine countenance when eyes blinded with figurative daggers asper mistakes in original draft, hence...this flood proof, fire resistant, and fever reducing error free version.) (yes...yes...yes, this rhyme resembles a recent one of mine from a previous time, yet appropriating wands zone writing haint no crime - at least not yet!) Okay bull heave me you, at this moment alm completely unaware what the a muse zing genie of poetic inspiration will bring possibly shelving what Calliope holds in store for me, meanwhile now with impatience it ching visa vis to discover what this Earthling, (albeit modest) will be amazingly graced with pizazz, meanwhile aye fling haphazardly, indiscriminately, and jocosely blitz krieg feebly attempting to contrive ingeniousness emits poetic prestidigitation in fits and starts, sans "FAKE" wits as this humble human imperceptibly orbitz around mister Sun, (which about bajillion years from now suddenly quits) shining foisting misery, where Nyx knocks (paddy whack give my dog a bone...) divinely, knowingly and spiritedly visits (believe me you) this trumpeting stupid moron loser forever doth taint after this moment (no need tubby saint lee and suppress any quaint gut wrenching chortle) at what aint no farce), nor literary feint yours truly painfully, sorrowfully, and verily avers, he now lacks fire and fury (as if nettled and docked by burrs) nonetheless, which ambition dust hanker mink thinks furs, and foremost (Tom morrow i.e. purrs sues tha owl mighty, where fame posthumously spurs me amidst pantheon of great writers which dream dashed into a million, (no...no...no...not bajillion this instance, though good guess) pieces abysmal silence replacing (palimpsest like), mine over active imagination whirs.
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