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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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Stirring in the bed, Three o'clock in the morning, The Sun still sleeps, My good-wife lays a-bed--asleep-- But, I must stir. A feeling, a vibration, an irritation low in my spine Speaks to my legs, “Move!” And they obey, They—fruitless in their movements, They—churning me not to the supermarket, They—moving me not to church or car, Club or bar, Game or match. No. My legs just stir. My muscles moving, they must. Oh, they must or... Or what? They cannot run up my credit cards. They cannot write bad checks. They cannot extort me to commit a crime. Or what? If I move them, they will still stir again. If I move them, they will not be my friends And let me return to blissful rest. At best, They irritate me, ceaselessly, With their stirring, stirring, stirring. And, I say, and, If I resist and stay still Until the sensation passes In an hour or hours They will reward me In the morning With faintness, exhaustion, and leg cramps. Days on end And still they are not my friends. Is it any wonder In a pinch That I blunder To that sweet relief, that bitter pill, That bane of my sane self, But the heaven to my insanity. Left with no recourse For the moment without remorse-- I break the glass And eat chocolate.

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In Case of Insanity Eat Chocolate

Stirring in the bed, Three o'clock in the morning, The Sun still sleeps, My good-wife lays a-bed--asleep-- But, I must stir. A feeling, a vibration, an irritation low in my spine Speaks to my legs, “Move!” And they obey, They—fruitless in their movements, They—churning me not to the supermarket, They—moving me not to church or car, Club or bar, Game or match. No. My legs just stir. My muscles moving, they must. Oh, they must or... Or what? They cannot run up my credit cards. They cannot write bad checks. They cannot extort me to commit a crime. Or what? If I move them, they will still stir again. If I move them, they will not be my friends And let me return to blissful rest. At best, They irritate me, ceaselessly, With their stirring, stirring, stirring. And, I say, and, If I resist and stay still Until the sensation passes In an hour or hours They will reward me In the morning With faintness, exhaustion, and leg cramps. Days on end And still they are not my friends. Is it any wonder In a pinch That I blunder To that sweet relief, that bitter pill, That bane of my sane self, But the heaven to my insanity. Left with no recourse For the moment without remorse-- I break the glass And eat chocolate.