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 the photo graphic, 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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www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry
In A Shared Garden
In my vegetable garden, birds are watching me, pick green beans to eat. A lone robin, scrounges for seeds, from sun flowers. An old, twisted oak tree, filters the sunlight. The cool, filtered light, is just right, for my garden. Beneath that oak tree, are ripe tomato’s I need to pick, for my supper. Mr. Robin flits upwards to a sun flower. He’s found his seeds and eats. His fill, he’ll eat and rest in the moon’s light. Ms. Deer gnaws only, flowers, as I leave the garden. No doubt, if I hadn’t picked My vegetables, already he’d be devouring them, beneath that shady tree. I chased her to a distant tree; tossed her an apple to eat. She’ll be back to take her pick More, I know, by the evening moon’s light. She’ll return to devour my garden; and will also, eat the flowers. I plant bulbs and flowers, away from my garden and the tree; hoping Ms. Deer, will avoid, my garden; preferring to go and eat, by the evening moon’s light; while I sit with my guitar and pick. Tomorrow, if they’re not eaten, I’ll go out and pick, a nice bouquet of table flowers, in morning sun’s, bright light. As it filters though the trees, that grow beside my garden. When evening comes, my guitar I’ll pick, in the waning moon’s dim light. Ms. Deer, her fill, of flowers, will eat. Oak tree beds down, for the night, beside the garden.
Copyright © 2020 M. L. Kiser. All Rights Reserved