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 A Flock of Startled Birds He had sat for an hour on a long, low, flat rock, He had checked himself over from bald patch to sock. His leather shoes burnished to a mirror-like shine, Tie ironed flat – a perfect straight line. Trouser legs spotless, each one like a razor Creases removed from a freshly-pressed blazer. Beside him his beret, shaped, shaven and fitted. Medals on chest at the spacing permitted. A lifetime of honour, in metal and ribbon, Scant recompense for the services given. On the rock, gleaming black in the late evening sun A Webley revolver – his Grandfather’s gun. Then drawing himself up and heaving a sigh He stood and was conscious of time slipping by The sun was still shining but the far hills were dim He knew that there wasn’t much time left to him. No friends, no family, no future but pain Nothing but memories of comrades, all slain. The only survivor, he felt like a thief, His mind filled with torment, dishonour and grief. A lifetime of desperately trying to mourn Till the shame and remorse were too much to be borne. He put on his beret, threw up a salute. A pang of fear stabbed, but he stood resolute. With one hand in pocket he searched till he found; Then picked up the revolver and chambered a round. Near the rock, at his feet, lay a bottomless cave Unmarked, uncorrupted, an ideal grave. He stepped to the edge, raised the gun to his brow “We all have our time,” he thought, “my time is now.” As he tightened his finger, a calmness descended In a moment the anguish and pain would be ended. It was all he could do to defeat the despair. Then a small flock of startled birds took to the air.
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