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 the photo graphic, 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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Whiskey on the rocks, advised by my doc combats dementia, so bring on the blocks no need for a glass; I'll have me the bottle with a big bowl of ice this baby I'll throttle The whiskey's gone, now a brandy'd be fine my inside's on fire, there's a hoop up my spine swigging from the bot comes at a price I'll temper the fire with whole blocks of ice The flames have been doused; rum, if you please? my head's in a clamp; ice will loosen the squeeze now, be a sport and pile on the ice two bowls or more I think should suffice Three bottlesh down, all on the rocksh my tootshiesh are shtarting to curl in my shocksh my shmile is chemented, my lipsh glued together my fashe the feel and texture of leather Twishe left, thrishe right my head ish shwinging short, long, short, long my earsh are zinging either I'm crosh-eyed or my brainsh have been fried elsh why are my legsh by three multiplied? I'm freefalling on shixh feet firmly earthed alternating twixht lower and then upper berth vocal chordsh tangled, shizhably crimped I'm walking with a lishp and talking with a limp I'm teetering-tottering or tettering-tortering I've no clue which ish which and given up wondering the world ish a blur; I musht be plarshtered the liquor went down well; ishe warsh the barshtard On all foursh – nay, twelve, I reach the bed now I'm pondering and shcratching my head: am I waking up or about to retire? I shimply topple over, my whole being on fire In the Land of Nod I'm harnessed by tether in comely dreams of cowboys and leather when plagued by a swishy feel in my bladder swelling as fast as a pregnant puffadder Abruptly awakened when a stream emanated unable to move, still intoxicated stuck to my bed and severely drenched nausea ensued in the encompassing stench How my stomach reacted I'd best not relate suffice to say it was a full freight soiled and hung-over, a word of advice: liquor's fantastic but steer clear of ice
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