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 Don't ! Ask the sun, where we were hidden, perhaps, in that caffeine moment. And, pondering on the empty space ! Don't ever say, the visual became clear as the silver dropped, to the deep floor like that broken sun,Yes! There are secrets Between the doors of safety, where you played with the past, un-knowingly. It was on the inside of the outside of everyday, needing ! And wanting to be balanced in scales, of comfort. While outside the Frog and the Heron, watched on, as visitors were composted, In a myriad of cackling voices. The happy shone, it sprinkled the day! Left me with joy full in my head and heart, It was, the time, that time, back tracked the feeling you get in that Sun of short shadows. Surrounded ! And everything once was ! And stones warm, purpose built, together, talking, and walking back. It may have been then In 1967, see what memories, and thought pools we swim in, between two distant unreachable shores. Maybe a sandy future palmed and green, or the rocky crags of endless chores. Colours seem thin, its stacked and smoked out doors. A tarry sun accompanies frost, on blued wet feet, tramping moors; Whiling away the day, she stares into the fire making deals with ghosts in the flames, I stare at the empty jars, I care about the red wine still in the glass, and now time is as fragile as the comb, dripping like a yellow sun ; But, i know the wham slap of the morning is due ! Like an unwanted letter, or whisper of bad news. This moment can be split, and spat against a broken future I need a compass point to be sure of this journey, a map of shifting clouds, of muddled ideas to gain a painless transposition along this ragged edged trail. Tomorrows, tomorrow are numbered, and in short supply. So upon this bed of chaste dreams you lie, within this pure love you die, from this breath of life you bleed, yet grow again from another seed.
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