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.
Enter Title (Not Required)
Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required A poem about World War 1. (ich totete is German for I killed) (J’ai tue is French for I killed) (Yellow mist refers to Mustad Gas) Not for them this poem of life for the pen is full of blood. Writing the names of yesterday on lichen memorials washed by the tears Of these forgotten years. Not for them a sunny day only shadows from the cross. Hiding their faces from tomorrow. Stored in this warehouse of silence, kept secret by churches reverence. Not for them to burn this candle of innocence their light was sold for war. To search out death in no man’s land for machine gun and snipers hand. Not for them the words of love or the gift of flowers for only poets can pick their dreams. No nightingales and moonlit nights or gentle caress upon the shore. For death is but a moment, Inspiration dies, with the pain in soldiers eyes. Not for them to sleep in peace or to wake to mothers bread. Only memories of a yellow mist, for the banshees long to be kissed. Not for them to lie to God to say we did not kill. For in death they can all say Ich tötete, J'ai tué, I killed. We who came from Eden, are now comrades in heaven. Not for them to know the future for we see only the graves. Let this be our peace, less we forget the meaning of war. And pray historians will never write again, with a pen full of blood, this poem, Not for them.
Enter Author Name (Not Required)