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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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In the shadow of time, my descendants, Both the known and those hidden in the corridors of ages, From the first generation to those yet to come, Please listen to this epic, From one who was and wished to be, Who loved to be the Poet, A Romanian born in the time of the Second World War, Who lived until he was given to live. This epic opens a long series of stories, Which I send to you without expecting any reply, Knowing that each one of you could respond in your own way. Oh, my dear ones, my offspring, The way I lived, no doubt, Affects the way you will live. I transcribed my sleepless nights into the dark circles under my children's eyes, And from there you inherited insomnia and nightmares. And maybe that's why I feel guilty, And consider it right to tell you this epic, To submit to your attention the concerns of the old Poet, Your father, grandfather, great-grandfather, your ancestor, From the tumultuous years when the second millennium was ending. In those times, life on Earth was so hard, It was not even possible to know how hard it was. Bridges could no longer withstand the pressure of the heavenly burden, Sins were numerous, and the greatest of them was the lie. I did not always resist it, either, I too secretly smoked this drug, I too went out in public, scared of my own questions, And I ran through the world like prey sensing the hunter's gun, And did not stop, so as not to be found by the bullet. Oh, my dear ones, my successors, May your life be peaceful, though it likely will not be, For such is the human nature from the very beginning: A thread of peace, a thread of unrest, One eye weeps, one laughs, Beneath each flower, a little hell. Thus I have decided to write and to pray for you, And to ask you, for the sake of Eminescu's name, Do not betray the Romanian language. Unfair sentences have been spoken in Romanian, Orders to shoot the innocent have been given in Romanian, But the language is not to blame. Teach those who will follow you to coo in the Romanian language, But it is not to blame. Teach those who will follow you to babble in the Romanian language, And you, commit no misdeed in Romanian. Wash yourselves in its onomatopoeias, Load as much baggage as you will on its verbs, Question its nouns, Give to your wives all its adjectives, To adorn themselves, And die in the Romanian language! When thieves plundered this country, They felt they couldn't steal it entirely, And they understood that only if they would bind all tongues to horses, And pull and turn us into a people without the power to speak, Into a mute nation, the Romanian language would disappear, for a brief period. Which the grass that grows in Romanian, From the uplands of Bukovina to Zamolxis's valleys in the Apuseni, Would learn to speak, in just as short a time. My beloved, receive this epic. Here, for centuries upon centuries, Some with health, some with freedom, some with death, And, to have a justification for what we've lost and erred, Agree that we did all that was within our power to make you feel good. And, thus, for you, we did all that we've done, Although not just for you have we done all that we've done. We report to the following generations what was impossible for us to taste. But receive this testament and carry it out. I give you everything and ask for only this: Do not repeat our mistakes, Make your own mistakes, innocence is better than stubbornness, We shall speak more about this. Stubbornness is the first refrain of dogma. From here on, welcome, you will be coming into the world, My dear, my precious, my descendants From beyond the horizon of my blood from which you will emerge.

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In the shadow of time, my descendants

In the shadow of time, my descendants, Both the known and those hidden in the corridors of ages, From the first generation to those yet to come, Please listen to this epic, From one who was and wished to be, Who loved to be the Poet, A Romanian born in the time of the Second World War, Who lived until he was given to live. This epic opens a long series of stories, Which I send to you without expecting any reply, Knowing that each one of you could respond in your own way. Oh, my dear ones, my offspring, The way I lived, no doubt, Affects the way you will live. I transcribed my sleepless nights into the dark circles under my children's eyes, And from there you inherited insomnia and nightmares. And maybe that's why I feel guilty, And consider it right to tell you this epic, To submit to your attention the concerns of the old Poet, Your father, grandfather, great-grandfather, your ancestor, From the tumultuous years when the second millennium was ending. In those times, life on Earth was so hard, It was not even possible to know how hard it was. Bridges could no longer withstand the pressure of the heavenly burden, Sins were numerous, and the greatest of them was the lie. I did not always resist it, either, I too secretly smoked this drug, I too went out in public, scared of my own questions, And I ran through the world like prey sensing the hunter's gun, And did not stop, so as not to be found by the bullet. Oh, my dear ones, my successors, May your life be peaceful, though it likely will not be, For such is the human nature from the very beginning: A thread of peace, a thread of unrest, One eye weeps, one laughs, Beneath each flower, a little hell. Thus I have decided to write and to pray for you, And to ask you, for the sake of Eminescu's name, Do not betray the Romanian language. Unfair sentences have been spoken in Romanian, Orders to shoot the innocent have been given in Romanian, But the language is not to blame. Teach those who will follow you to coo in the Romanian language, But it is not to blame. Teach those who will follow you to babble in the Romanian language, And you, commit no misdeed in Romanian. Wash yourselves in its onomatopoeias, Load as much baggage as you will on its verbs, Question its nouns, Give to your wives all its adjectives, To adorn themselves, And die in the Romanian language! When thieves plundered this country, They felt they couldn't steal it entirely, And they understood that only if they would bind all tongues to horses, And pull and turn us into a people without the power to speak, Into a mute nation, the Romanian language would disappear, for a brief period. Which the grass that grows in Romanian, From the uplands of Bukovina to Zamolxis's valleys in the Apuseni, Would learn to speak, in just as short a time. My beloved, receive this epic. Here, for centuries upon centuries, Some with health, some with freedom, some with death, And, to have a justification for what we've lost and erred, Agree that we did all that was within our power to make you feel good. And, thus, for you, we did all that we've done, Although not just for you have we done all that we've done. We report to the following generations what was impossible for us to taste. But receive this testament and carry it out. I give you everything and ask for only this: Do not repeat our mistakes, Make your own mistakes, innocence is better than stubbornness, We shall speak more about this. Stubbornness is the first refrain of dogma. From here on, welcome, you will be coming into the world, My dear, my precious, my descendants From beyond the horizon of my blood from which you will emerge.