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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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(or swing sets and monkey bars) A pitch perfect spring day such as today April 8th, 2022 within quaint hamlet of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania in close proximity within mind's eye to Lake Wobegon, Minnesota finds me reminiscing... When, scads of light years ago (half life of mein kampf), while yours truly, at that time a father linkedin emotionally, mentally and socially kibitzing with his two young adorable girls, ah charming children indeed (totally unbiased opinion that) both sweet lassies to boot figuratively got their daddy tightly wrapped around all four of their middle fingers, matter of fact coercive Munchkin, and her younger sibling Shayna Punim both whose playful rebukes courtesy daughters role playing stern yet affectionate “mama,” this papa feigned not to heed, maybe begetting a boy (cuz I ofttimes then envisioned being pro creative regarding bequeathing XY chromosomes which engendered gifting us a son; i.e. ideally conceived male child - obviously at mercy of biological random chance genetic material receiving proper allotment to garner personal pronoun predicated upon strict binary addressable as he/him), when reproductive gamble roulette never did yield nor diploid offspring to carry forth Harris surname constituting for good measure genetic qua mixed breed, would have elicited contrary response, when playing reversed roles whereby Matthew Scott the kid (Billy me) not docile like his real self and his imaginary male progeny aplomb (fig your at Tivoli) found me taking his fruitful lead apple lee going bananas acceptable make believe games regarding above named adult playing mischievous, innocuous, harmless behavior committing neither illegal transgression nor misdeed from this grown man, Sir Wren during self to architect landing flat on me then palm pilot sized bum (measured by Andre the Giant) as if drunk from mead, where playfulness my creed those were the days my friend... years ago that streamed flicked across thee ethereal net at lightspeed, I experienced manifest destiny nsync with government assigned mummy dearest head shrinker taking eminent domain freed Aladdin side me, those decades, sans long gone fatherhood plus roles he learned to succeed recalling catfights ('twixt daughters) he assertively refereed, who cherished those offspring, he did seed - reckons adult opportunity gifted yours truly mentoring with excellence they did exceed unlike yours truly he rarely ever let loose maybe once, the scairt (of his own shadow) boy inside subsequently cowering frightened lad, healthy development anxiety did impede his spontaneity damned and leveed, thus renaissance awoke to travel back in time reliving boyhood non disrupted, and prior to parenthood, would be less apt to concede how natural to bond with progeny fostered by being keyed into esprit de corps of biological charges, now grown without need, nor want of his company (halt) sudden embarrassment that person, whose absence in “My Struggle” did bleed unstaunched sadness till affixing available spare time with books to read, and poems to write attempting to feed an errant stray tear every now and again, more pronounced as father time guaranteed begetting precious bundles of joy, how pedestrian days of yore like a tumbleweed (think T.S. Elliot) rocketed them thru preschool, kindergarten... high school, college now this doddering doth oft attempt (with futility) to reach them... even cherished memories insync with Jack and Jill Truck klaxon dost recede.

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Swing Sets and Jungle Gyms

(or swing sets and monkey bars) A pitch perfect spring day such as today April 8th, 2022 within quaint hamlet of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania in close proximity within mind's eye to Lake Wobegon, Minnesota finds me reminiscing... When, scads of light years ago (half life of mein kampf), while yours truly, at that time a father linkedin emotionally, mentally and socially kibitzing with his two young adorable girls, ah charming children indeed (totally unbiased opinion that) both sweet lassies to boot figuratively got their daddy tightly wrapped around all four of their middle fingers, matter of fact coercive Munchkin, and her younger sibling Shayna Punim both whose playful rebukes courtesy daughters role playing stern yet affectionate “mama,” this papa feigned not to heed, maybe begetting a boy (cuz I ofttimes then envisioned being pro creative regarding bequeathing XY chromosomes which engendered gifting us a son; i.e. ideally conceived male child - obviously at mercy of biological random chance genetic material receiving proper allotment to garner personal pronoun predicated upon strict binary addressable as he/him), when reproductive gamble roulette never did yield nor diploid offspring to carry forth Harris surname constituting for good measure genetic qua mixed breed, would have elicited contrary response, when playing reversed roles whereby Matthew Scott the kid (Billy me) not docile like his real self and his imaginary male progeny aplomb (fig your at Tivoli) found me taking his fruitful lead apple lee going bananas acceptable make believe games regarding above named adult playing mischievous, innocuous, harmless behavior committing neither illegal transgression nor misdeed from this grown man, Sir Wren during self to architect landing flat on me then palm pilot sized bum (measured by Andre the Giant) as if drunk from mead, where playfulness my creed those were the days my friend... years ago that streamed flicked across thee ethereal net at lightspeed, I experienced manifest destiny nsync with government assigned mummy dearest head shrinker taking eminent domain freed Aladdin side me, those decades, sans long gone fatherhood plus roles he learned to succeed recalling catfights ('twixt daughters) he assertively refereed, who cherished those offspring, he did seed - reckons adult opportunity gifted yours truly mentoring with excellence they did exceed unlike yours truly he rarely ever let loose maybe once, the scairt (of his own shadow) boy inside subsequently cowering frightened lad, healthy development anxiety did impede his spontaneity damned and leveed, thus renaissance awoke to travel back in time reliving boyhood non disrupted, and prior to parenthood, would be less apt to concede how natural to bond with progeny fostered by being keyed into esprit de corps of biological charges, now grown without need, nor want of his company (halt) sudden embarrassment that person, whose absence in “My Struggle” did bleed unstaunched sadness till affixing available spare time with books to read, and poems to write attempting to feed an errant stray tear every now and again, more pronounced as father time guaranteed begetting precious bundles of joy, how pedestrian days of yore like a tumbleweed (think T.S. Elliot) rocketed them thru preschool, kindergarten... high school, college now this doddering doth oft attempt (with futility) to reach them... even cherished memories insync with Jack and Jill Truck klaxon dost recede.