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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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Let’s sail away to Acapella, A celebrity haunt owned by Penn and Teller. I shall act as your prince, you’ll be Cinderella When we’re sat on a beach in Acapella. It’s not as sexy as Cannes or as dowdy as Rhyl But their choirs and ensembles will give you a thrill, Acapella compares well to old Casablanca, As you will observe once we have dropped anchor. Their libraries don’t hold any musical score, Acoustic folk singers are considered a bore, All keyboards and trombones were sold overseas And whistles restricted to football referees. So you won’t hear the bagpipes of Kenneth McKellar Or repetitive bass notes plucked by Paul Weller. Your voice will entrance all the ladies and fellas Once we’ve moored in the harbour of Acapella’s. There fishermen bring ashore haddock and bream Having sung shanties as a well-rehearsed team, The salty sea breeze gives their voices a rasp And the youngest amongst them let out a gasp! Melodic and manly, the crews ride the waves, Proud of their seamanship, masters not slaves, They heed the advice of their mothers and aunties But rarely acknowledge the source of their shanties. Once a solitary busker was found in a yacht And by all accounts he deserved what he got, He was forced down the plank at the tip of a sword Then his vintage viola was flung overboard! On the pier you’ll find orators and callers at bingo, But no jukebox is pumping out John, Paul or Ringo. Pop or rock music gives locals the creeps, It’s no wonder that George’s guitar gently weeps. So, if Customs Control takes your squeezebox or trumpet Don’t seek compensation, you’ll just have to lump it; Those instruments go to a processing plant Because singers are welcome but musicians aren’t. We shall seek out the nightlife in numerous bars Where the locals all sing without playing guitars, Dodge the Lambrettas in quaint cobbled alleys, Then stride across hills and along peaceful valleys. So, if you’re tired of concertos or singles by Queen Book a cruise to a place where they’re considered obscene, It’s a magical island owned by Penn and by Teller - The remote principality of Acapella. So let us sail forth across the briny In a luxury yacht - well furnished and shiny To where your vocal range will be valued quite highly, And you won’t have to sit through Baba O’Riley.

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Wave of Fantasy

Let’s sail away to Acapella, A celebrity haunt owned by Penn and Teller. I shall act as your prince, you’ll be Cinderella When we’re sat on a beach in Acapella. It’s not as sexy as Cannes or as dowdy as Rhyl But their choirs and ensembles will give you a thrill, Acapella compares well to old Casablanca, As you will observe once we have dropped anchor. Their libraries don’t hold any musical score, Acoustic folk singers are considered a bore, All keyboards and trombones were sold overseas And whistles restricted to football referees. So you won’t hear the bagpipes of Kenneth McKellar Or repetitive bass notes plucked by Paul Weller. Your voice will entrance all the ladies and fellas Once we’ve moored in the harbour of Acapella’s. There fishermen bring ashore haddock and bream Having sung shanties as a well-rehearsed team, The salty sea breeze gives their voices a rasp And the youngest amongst them let out a gasp! Melodic and manly, the crews ride the waves, Proud of their seamanship, masters not slaves, They heed the advice of their mothers and aunties But rarely acknowledge the source of their shanties. Once a solitary busker was found in a yacht And by all accounts he deserved what he got, He was forced down the plank at the tip of a sword Then his vintage viola was flung overboard! On the pier you’ll find orators and callers at bingo, But no jukebox is pumping out John, Paul or Ringo. Pop or rock music gives locals the creeps, It’s no wonder that George’s guitar gently weeps. So, if Customs Control takes your squeezebox or trumpet Don’t seek compensation, you’ll just have to lump it; Those instruments go to a processing plant Because singers are welcome but musicians aren’t. We shall seek out the nightlife in numerous bars Where the locals all sing without playing guitars, Dodge the Lambrettas in quaint cobbled alleys, Then stride across hills and along peaceful valleys. So, if you’re tired of concertos or singles by Queen Book a cruise to a place where they’re considered obscene, It’s a magical island owned by Penn and by Teller - The remote principality of Acapella. So let us sail forth across the briny In a luxury yacht - well furnished and shiny To where your vocal range will be valued quite highly, And you won’t have to sit through Baba O’Riley.