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 In smoky halls where echoes groan, they carved the truths in tempered stone, yet none recall the scribe who wrote— a chap in boots and mismatched coat. His quill was plucked from harpy's wing, he’d hum while making corpses sing, and in his book, no saints nor rules— just jesters crowned as sacred fools. He’d scrawl: “The Pharaohs danced in socks,” “Atlantis sank for TikTok shocks,” “The gods play poker, bluffing fate,” and “Death’s quite fond of jam on plate.” No funeral dirge, no sacred chant— just tales of one ghostly aunt who haunts her pub near Camden Town, and downs her Guinness upside down. In Chapter Twelve, he penned with flair: “The soul’s a squirrel. It climbs. Beware of preachers selling spirit glue, and wizards who misplace their shoe.” The elders scoffed, the prophets wept, the choirboys fainted as they slept. But underground, the rebels laughed and toasted with their witchy draught. He wrote of love, of wars, of tea, of how the stars play hide and seek, of time—“a dodgy landlord bloke who always vanishes mid-smoke.” The Book of Souls, they locked away, filed under “Myths” in disarray. But now and then, it starts to speak when full moons twitch and reason leaks. It sings not hymns, but punk and blues, of afterlives in dancing shoes— a book that breathes, that mocks control, and dares to ask: Who owns the soul? So if you find it, dog-eared, worn, by alley bins or fields of corn, read loud, and let your spirit troll— for madmen may just save the soul.
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