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.



Enter Title (Not Required)

Enter Poem or Quote (Required)

Enter Author Name (Not Required)

Move Text:

Heading Text

       
Color:

Main/Poem Text

       
Color:
Background Position Alignment:
  | 
 

Upload Image: 
 


 
 10mb max file size

Use Internet Image:




Like: https://www.poetrysoup.com/images/ce_Finnaly_home_soare.jpg  
Layout:   
www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry
The Farriers Lad
I stood in awe and watched him work unyielding metal, forged in fire, now bending, moulding to his will somehow, unending, the blows raining down, the hammer's kiss drowning birdsong and the forges fiery hiss. I work the bellows to disgorge icy blasts of compressed air into the heart of the white hot coals, which, like the souls of the damned, roared and cracked and spat like banshees. Sparks spiralled and danced as the hammer glanced, hither and yon on burnished metal until they settled on baked clay, made that way by years of toil in broiling heat and myriad feet. Still the muscled farrier sweated, aided and abetted by eager apprentice, noting the swing and anvil's sing and muscles taut and iron wrought to shapes in steel to rim a wheel or shoe a horse or gate a field. I watch it yield to the blacksmiths will and still he works, heating, hammering, turning, whilst I, learning, stoke the fire and work the bellows until the day mellows into evening and the last piece is tempered in water cold which scolds the air in clouds of steam. Damp the fire, kill the flame, a last swig of cider then, time to go, follow the crow, tired men. Footsteps weary, tipsy as fools, the sweated brow cools in the twilight air. Home to wife and children, home to those who care.
Copyright © 2024 John Jones. All Rights Reserved

Book: Shattered Sighs