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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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Across Mind's Fertile Fields New Seeds Are Cast Across mind's fertile fields new seeds are cast Oft spread onward by an innocent flame If, if only, youth could forever last Death would have to abandon its dark game. Old age would vanish with its dreaded pains. We would not be looking at sad remains. Across flowering meadows oak trees grow Near the lost graveyard where childhood once ran If, if only, in June's heat cool winds blow And more pretty girls show off their dark tans. Old age would vanish with its dreaded pains. We would not be looking at sad remains. Across this great earth, life dances and teems Sun rewards casting its bright golden rays If, if only, river gifts cooler streams We in our youthful zeal may pass our days. Old age would vanish with its dreaded pains. We would not be looking at sad remains. Across mind's fertile fields new seeds are cast Oft spread onward by an innocent flame If, if only, youth could forever last Death would have to abandon its dark game. Old age would vanish with its dreaded pains. We would not be looking at sad remains. Robert J. Lindley, 1-25-2021 Rhyme, ( Memories From The Southern Meadows- 1968/1973 - to- 2021 ) Note: Tis a terrible thing to look back and think of the time that one once so wasted. Yet as noted- we are what the past has made us. For better or worse, I survived much and believe there is a reason for that survival. Perhaps could be as simple as my writing. Poetry has been in my blood firmly- as an addiction - since age 15 - in 1969. The same year that my father died. Now the ink that courses through these old veins. Recalls the beginnings, youth and the wild years. Life was crazy- living , loving, O' the pains. Poetry cries, yes ink out those tears… ink out those tears.
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