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 I’m fifteen, and I thought life was supposed to wait for me. I thought grief was something that happened to other people, somewhere else. But the phone rang one night, and my mom said it like a secret— your uncle… he’s sick. and not the kind that gets better. Pancreatic cancer. Last stage. No cure. Just time— like a candle they forgot to blow out. Since then, I haven’t really been here. My body sits behind a school desk, but my mind… my mind’s somewhere between a hospital room and last summer when everything still felt normal. The teacher writes numbers on the board, and I try to care. But all I see are countdowns. All I hear is his laugh echoing through the noise of a world that doesn’t stop for anyone. He still smiles when I visit. Every week, two hours. He asks how school is. I lie. I say “it’s fine.” Because what else do you say to someone who’s running out of days? And then I go home, and I close the door, and it’s like the air itself hurts. Like I’m made of questions that don’t have answers. How long? Why him? Why now? Everyone says “be strong.” But they don’t tell you how strength feels like breaking in silence. How you can laugh in class and still feel like you’re disappearing. He’s dying. And I’m here. Fifteen years old, behind a desk, pretending that fractions matter when someone I love is fading like the end of a song. And the bell rings. Everyone runs. And I just sit there, because I can’t tell if it’s over for the day— or if something much bigger is about to end.
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