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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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One crying kid after another sat on Santa’s lap. He tried to remain jolly while holding onto squirming, screaming, kicking and scratching children. Those who did not cry had endless lists of toys and games they wanted for Christmas. He was not aware of the electronic gadgets and accessories they asked for in abundance. He had been pee’ed on. Had his real beard pulled and tugged on. He had been kicked and clawed. He was even slapped by one mother who did not like the way he held her daughter. Picture after picture for ungrateful parents who commented, “Last year’s Santa was much better.” One spoiled brat after another, disappointed with the snow globe they got for sitting on his lap after over an hours wait in line. Christmas had lost its meaning and joy to the, underpaid, Mall Santa Claus. Finally, on Christmas Eve, the line had come to an end and one last child waited her turn to sit on his tired, wet and weary lap. Void of enthusiasm, he motioned with his mitten covered hand for the girl to come sit on his lap. He wondered if this would be a crier, a wetter, a silent stiff, a whiner or a spoiled brat with a long list of gift orders. She felt frail as he lifted her up onto his lap. She removed her cap and displayed a totally bald head. “Hello, little girl. And what do you want for Christmas?”, he asked with no emotion left in his voice. She could only answer in a sweet, soft, whisper of a voice, “I came here to say thank you, Santa. I already got my Christmas present.” “You did? And what did you get?”, he asked. “A bone marrow transplant,” was her answer. “Oh,” was all he could respond with. “Mommy said it came from Jesus. So, I thought maybe you could tell Jesus, ‘Thank you’, for me.” “Yes,” he said, with rejuvenated spirit, “yes, I can.” “Thank you, Santa. Oh, and Santa, can you give my Mommy and Daddy a nice dinner away from the hospital on Christmas day? They have been there every night for a long time and I think they could use a night off.” “I will see what I can do,” said Santa, with a tear in his eye. The little girl climbed down off of Santa’s lap, thanked him for the most beautiful snow globe she had ever seen, and wandered off down the mall holding her parent’s hands. Santa sat there in the dark for the longest time, having forgotten the hundreds of kids who soured his Christmas spirit and smiled, full of Christmas joy for the present he had just received. “And, Jesus,” the mall Santa said, “Thank you from me, too.”

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The Mall Santa

One crying kid after another sat on Santa’s lap. He tried to remain jolly while holding onto squirming, screaming, kicking and scratching children. Those who did not cry had endless lists of toys and games they wanted for Christmas. He was not aware of the electronic gadgets and accessories they asked for in abundance. He had been pee’ed on. Had his real beard pulled and tugged on. He had been kicked and clawed. He was even slapped by one mother who did not like the way he held her daughter. Picture after picture for ungrateful parents who commented, “Last year’s Santa was much better.” One spoiled brat after another, disappointed with the snow globe they got for sitting on his lap after over an hours wait in line. Christmas had lost its meaning and joy to the, underpaid, Mall Santa Claus. Finally, on Christmas Eve, the line had come to an end and one last child waited her turn to sit on his tired, wet and weary lap. Void of enthusiasm, he motioned with his mitten covered hand for the girl to come sit on his lap. He wondered if this would be a crier, a wetter, a silent stiff, a whiner or a spoiled brat with a long list of gift orders. She felt frail as he lifted her up onto his lap. She removed her cap and displayed a totally bald head. “Hello, little girl. And what do you want for Christmas?”, he asked with no emotion left in his voice. She could only answer in a sweet, soft, whisper of a voice, “I came here to say thank you, Santa. I already got my Christmas present.” “You did? And what did you get?”, he asked. “A bone marrow transplant,” was her answer. “Oh,” was all he could respond with. “Mommy said it came from Jesus. So, I thought maybe you could tell Jesus, ‘Thank you’, for me.” “Yes,” he said, with rejuvenated spirit, “yes, I can.” “Thank you, Santa. Oh, and Santa, can you give my Mommy and Daddy a nice dinner away from the hospital on Christmas day? They have been there every night for a long time and I think they could use a night off.” “I will see what I can do,” said Santa, with a tear in his eye. The little girl climbed down off of Santa’s lap, thanked him for the most beautiful snow globe she had ever seen, and wandered off down the mall holding her parent’s hands. Santa sat there in the dark for the longest time, having forgotten the hundreds of kids who soured his Christmas spirit and smiled, full of Christmas joy for the present he had just received. “And, Jesus,” the mall Santa said, “Thank you from me, too.”