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 Entering the fields of my childhood around two, overjoyed by the vibrant flowers that gently lulled and dispersed their gentle aroma into the noon; I passed under the old balconies with flower-pots painted in russet as the leaves of late and quite Autumn, which elated me with their sweet-smelling scent , to please my nostrils everywhere I went... body and spirit in full harmony, never being alone! Hummingbirds fluttering from tree to tree, to announce their departure by the dawn's blaze, still warbling and making me immensely glad; I hummed that song to ease their misery, they flew around and landed on my shoulders to start the making of a lively symphony: and with no instruments and vocals, we created a musical masterpiece worthy of praise! Entering the fields of my childhood, leaping like frogs chased by cruel rascals, my escape to freedom from noisy streets and voices of mothers calling out to their mischievous children, to hurry home before their dad imposed discipline; jolly and care-free I explored that unknown world... solitude was the source of joy for a prodigious child, no genius ever became great without the urge of the wild! Pondering over my advancing age, and recalling that child run towards the lilies' fields made golden by the scorching sun, I wish to become little and start running again, until I run out of breath and take a brief rest; and should the storm pelt on the rose-bushes, and their buds fell off, I would pick them all with the swiftest care and hold them in my wet palms, and ever preserve them in this memory... to enter the fields of my childhood and vanish into their immensity! Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
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