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 Acres and acres of barren land. The dried tumbleweeds roll across the open field, their roots dry and uprooted. The quiet cotton field where slavery once beckoned, the sounds of voices chanting, the saloon where the taps flowed like blood through their veins, the missuses with long skirts and huge hats— a young miss sitting on the knee of some foolhardy lass. The sheriff across the way, a hand on his hip, meaning business. The smell of warm bread lingers in the air from the bakery, the blacksmith, hammer in hand, striking the hot iron on the wood stove. Memories of ancestors and fool’s gold remain in the dark. The fine line that was drawn is still visible in the sand, along with the bloodstain, now a faint shade of pink, telling a story of the law against the outlaws. The onslaught that ensued had turned the town into a war zone, makeshift graves and wooden crosses everywhere, a place where man no longer exists. A battle of wills with no surrenders, the legacy now silence, marked in stones scribbled in red. Years of neglect; now it feels like a ghost town, the empty years and the signs that are left are part of the history. In the distance, the sound of life; there’s the silhouette of a horse and buggy. Inside, a little family—the new settlers. The father jumps down at the line in the sand. A boy of six, with dirty suspenders, squeals with delight as his father, with sweat running down his face, hammers the sign in the ground. The hope of a new beginning is felt in the air. You hear the faint sound of a baby crying, the mother shushing as she reads the simple wording: In Marked Territory 1889 Population: 9
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