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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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At ten o’clock each morning, the Barley Tavern opens up its door, and every now and then I saunter down, just making sure, that Ken the barman hasn’t slept in, so he might need a call, to satisfy those with the D.T.’s with their backs against the wall. There was Cec who had some problem that gave him a raging thirst, and Pud an ex-trucker that from the grog was surely cursed, as was Mal the one time hero of the Tavern’s hookey class, but at ten o’clock on week days, they all hold a shaking glass. Although once that first beer hits the lips, life is all brand new, so with steady hands and addled brains they hop in for a few, and give some cheek to Granny Smith, the Barley Tavern’s kitchen staff, who likes to get into mischief, as long as it gives here a laugh. Granny’s trained to live upon her wits as pub cooks mostly are, once boozing tongues are loosened up from smart Alecs at the bar, and I chuckled at the comments that were thrown by Pud and Cec, but Granny didn’t seem herself today, in fact she looked a mess. Her hair looked like it needed brushing, and her eyes were glassy too. She wore a frown upon her face, and I’d say she’s had a few. I must admit that I was worried; Granny’s usually carefree, so when she staggered to the kitchen, she needed my therapy. But before I had a chance to help her, a young bloke stepped inside . He was panicking I tell you, before with me he did confide. “My Grandma works somewhere in here,” and held up her headache pills. “She’s picked up the wrong pill bottle!” Granny’s grandson loudly shrills. I calmed the lad down just a mite, and I led him from the bar, and found Granny in the kitchen who’d took up a boxing spar. “Gran! Gran!” the kid yelled out, “those pills you took from home are mine!” But Granny Smith just threw a left, and yelled “get out you flamin’ swine!” “Now Gran” her grandson added, “Will you hand back those pills to me. I’ve written on the label with a texta, the letters L-S-D.” I nearly had a heart attack, and Granny uttered quite bazaar, “Stuff your bloody pills young man- chase out the dragons in the bar!”

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Swap Headaches For Dragons

At ten o’clock each morning, the Barley Tavern opens up its door, and every now and then I saunter down, just making sure, that Ken the barman hasn’t slept in, so he might need a call, to satisfy those with the D.T.’s with their backs against the wall. There was Cec who had some problem that gave him a raging thirst, and Pud an ex-trucker that from the grog was surely cursed, as was Mal the one time hero of the Tavern’s hookey class, but at ten o’clock on week days, they all hold a shaking glass. Although once that first beer hits the lips, life is all brand new, so with steady hands and addled brains they hop in for a few, and give some cheek to Granny Smith, the Barley Tavern’s kitchen staff, who likes to get into mischief, as long as it gives here a laugh. Granny’s trained to live upon her wits as pub cooks mostly are, once boozing tongues are loosened up from smart Alecs at the bar, and I chuckled at the comments that were thrown by Pud and Cec, but Granny didn’t seem herself today, in fact she looked a mess. Her hair looked like it needed brushing, and her eyes were glassy too. She wore a frown upon her face, and I’d say she’s had a few. I must admit that I was worried; Granny’s usually carefree, so when she staggered to the kitchen, she needed my therapy. But before I had a chance to help her, a young bloke stepped inside . He was panicking I tell you, before with me he did confide. “My Grandma works somewhere in here,” and held up her headache pills. “She’s picked up the wrong pill bottle!” Granny’s grandson loudly shrills. I calmed the lad down just a mite, and I led him from the bar, and found Granny in the kitchen who’d took up a boxing spar. “Gran! Gran!” the kid yelled out, “those pills you took from home are mine!” But Granny Smith just threw a left, and yelled “get out you flamin’ swine!” “Now Gran” her grandson added, “Will you hand back those pills to me. I’ve written on the label with a texta, the letters L-S-D.” I nearly had a heart attack, and Granny uttered quite bazaar, “Stuff your bloody pills young man- chase out the dragons in the bar!”