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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Egocentric Dragon
Dragon polished his nails and admired himself in the mirror once again; a daily ritual getting so old. The one lousy hair on his chin, protruding from a small wart which he called a, “birthmark”; warranted a razor, shaving foam and aftershave or so he insisted. He blew himself a kiss and turned with a smile; “Do you think my fangs need more whitening?” He asked. “Dr. Raine said the last time that he “Couldn’t get them any whiter, remember?” I responded. “Humph!” he snorted; “I can’t go around looking like some shoddy, back alley lizard now, can I? Now that I’m a professional flutist, I have a reputation to protect.” With that he patted my cheek and said, “Ciao baby, don’t wait up for me.” I watched him grab his instrument and walk out the door. “Don’t get that big head get stuck”, I muttered softly. Why couldn’t I have adopted a normal dragon? No, I had to have the cutest one; how could I not have foreseen that ego? When he said he wanted a flute, I bought him one; he hated it. “That’s a beginner flute,” he remarked. I want a, Master Class instrument!” I gave in all too easily and a hundred payments later, he was playing Vivaldi, like a pro. Ok, so maybe that was a good investment. Every contest he’d entered garnered him another golden trophy; but, did he really need a tuxedo to wear when he received those baubles? My credit cards gained weight at lightning speed, as he grew. I passed his room; stuck my tongue out at that, trophy wall and noticed his vanity. Did he really need one hundred and twelve different bottles of cologne? At two am, he awoke me with an anxious cry. I heard, “Mumsey dear, wake up…the concert was superb and the governor was so impressed, (of course, he would be…) with my playing; he’s invited me, me to play for his inaugural dinner! Can I have your credit card? I need to get a French manicure and have my scales waxed. Oh, and I’m going to need a new Tux.” “You have twenty three tuxedos in your closet; why can’t you wear one of those?” I asked him. “Mumsey”, he replied, “I have a reputation to maintain.” He tweaked my cheek; smiled at himself in the mirror and under my breath I muttered back, “I can hardly wait until his, ever-growing ego, gets him stuck in the doorway.”
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Book: Shattered Sighs