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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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The cemetery is not silent. It hums—soft and steady— like a lullaby remembered just before sleep. This is not a place of endings, but of quiet continuance. Here, the earth does not mourn— it holds. It listens. It welcomes. Beneath the moss and carved stone, beneath the careful flowers and fading names, a family has gathered— not bound by blood, but by something far more enduring: the simple truth that no one leaves forever. They are not ghosts. They do not haunt. They stay. In laughter that echoes between leaves, in the hush that falls before the first snow, in the way your name lingers on the air when no one else is there. They gather in invisible rooms just beside the living, close enough to reach— if not to touch. A gardener still tends her roses. A father still hums as sunlight slants golden across the garden wall. A child still plays in the rustle of autumn leaves. They remember us. Not as statues, not as names etched in stone— but as we are: messy, marvellous, still learning. And they cheer us on with a patience the living rarely understand. At night, they light invisible lanterns, and their joy spills into our dreams. They gather under imagined skies, telling their stories— and now, ours— folding our names into their conversations like old friends preparing a place at the table. They do not ask for tears, though they understand them. They’ve cried too. They’ve loved too deeply to ask you not to break a little. But they want you to know— they are happy. Not gone. Not trapped. But finally, wholly free. They walk beside us, though we may not see them. Their hands hover near ours in moments of stillness. Their voices echo in the thoughts we trust most. And when you laugh without knowing why, when peace settles over your chest like a warm blanket, know this: Someone you loved was thinking of you. Still is. Always will. This is the secret the cemetery keeps— not sorrow, but sanctuary. Not farewell, but wait for me. And when the time comes, as it must, you’ll find them not asleep, but waiting— smiling, arms outstretched, your seat beside the fire still warm.

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Sanctuary

The cemetery is not silent. It hums—soft and steady— like a lullaby remembered just before sleep. This is not a place of endings, but of quiet continuance. Here, the earth does not mourn— it holds. It listens. It welcomes. Beneath the moss and carved stone, beneath the careful flowers and fading names, a family has gathered— not bound by blood, but by something far more enduring: the simple truth that no one leaves forever. They are not ghosts. They do not haunt. They stay. In laughter that echoes between leaves, in the hush that falls before the first snow, in the way your name lingers on the air when no one else is there. They gather in invisible rooms just beside the living, close enough to reach— if not to touch. A gardener still tends her roses. A father still hums as sunlight slants golden across the garden wall. A child still plays in the rustle of autumn leaves. They remember us. Not as statues, not as names etched in stone— but as we are: messy, marvellous, still learning. And they cheer us on with a patience the living rarely understand. At night, they light invisible lanterns, and their joy spills into our dreams. They gather under imagined skies, telling their stories— and now, ours— folding our names into their conversations like old friends preparing a place at the table. They do not ask for tears, though they understand them. They’ve cried too. They’ve loved too deeply to ask you not to break a little. But they want you to know— they are happy. Not gone. Not trapped. But finally, wholly free. They walk beside us, though we may not see them. Their hands hover near ours in moments of stillness. Their voices echo in the thoughts we trust most. And when you laugh without knowing why, when peace settles over your chest like a warm blanket, know this: Someone you loved was thinking of you. Still is. Always will. This is the secret the cemetery keeps— not sorrow, but sanctuary. Not farewell, but wait for me. And when the time comes, as it must, you’ll find them not asleep, but waiting— smiling, arms outstretched, your seat beside the fire still warm.