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 You always tell me how much you love my poetry but is that the only reason you feel drawn to me? I write Sonnets filled with love and romance for you, adoring stanzas meant to caress your heart and soul, but is it my rhyming words, or me that you cherish? If I no longer wrote about the silvered moon in eclipse, would your soft parted lips still want to cling to mine? I could gladly write all day and night to please you, but if I did not clasp a feathered quill in my hand, I wonder... would you still hold me dear in your life? I sit and write only for you lately. Am I fooling myself to think it's just for the words I scribble on parchment that you've become enthralled with the flair of my pen. What then, my love? If no longer I could compose expressions of devoutness meant for your eyes only. With reverence, I beseech you to love me for who I am. Would you leave me in painful throes of heartache, forsaking my heart when my muse no longer expresses the passionate verses you seek me to scribe for you? Would you love me if I wasn't a poet, darling, scrawling arduous words to describe the beauty of your face, or the changing shades of grey in your wintery eyes? No, dear one. Do not answer the questions I ask of you for to hear your voice deny me of your love, I'd become incapable of ever authoring another affectionate line. I would tear my pages of poetry in half and burn them. Grief-stricken; my tears blurring the ink to ever write again. Despoiled of the will to create even one more quixotic verse.
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