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 The man with his lion under the shed of wars sheds his belief as if he shed tears. The sound of words waits - a barbarian host at the borderline of sense. The enamord guards desert their posts harkening to the lion-smell of a poem that rings in their ears. -Dreams, a certain guard said were never designd so to re-arrange an empire. Along about six o'clock I take out my guitar and sing to a lion who sleeps like a line of poetry in the shed of wars. The man shedding his belief knows that the lion is not asleep, does not dream, is never asleep, is a wide-awake poem waiting like a lover for the disrobing of the guard; the beautil boundaries of the empire naked, rapt round in the smell of a lion. (The barbarians have passt over the significant phrase) -When I was asleep, a certain guard says, a man shed his clothes as if he shed tears and appeard as a lonely lion waiting for a song under the shed-roof of wars. I sang the song that he waited to hear, I, the Prize-Winner, the Poet Acclaimd. Dear, Dear, Dear, Dear, I sang, believe, believe, believe, believe. The shed of wars is splendid as the sky, houses our waiting like a pure song housing in its words the lion-smell of the beloved disrobed. I sang: believe, believe, believe. I the guard because of my guitar belive. I am the certain guard, certain of the Beloved, certain of the lion, certain of the Empire. I with my guitar. Dear, Dear, Dear, Dear, I sing. I, the Prize-Winner, the Poet on Guard. The borderlines of sense in the morning light are naked as a line of poetry in a war.
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