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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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He said, “Yes, I flew a fighter plane over the hills, and the people were running, they were just people, they were villagers, not soldiers, they were running away,” and a tear came to his eye, and it looked like a napalm-rain , as he dabbed away the guilt and regret; because he flew a fighter plane over the hills, and the people were running, running away; but his rain caught them, cindered them; and they weren’t soldiers, they were just people running away, granddads, mothers, babies, aunts; and they were all running, running, running - away then he flew his plane home, over the hills, on to the deck, in to the mess, and ate the food and drank some coffee, and watched TV; and they fuelled, and bombed him up, and he flew again, over the hills, over the hills, far away, far away, passing over the black-scorched earth, the granddads and mothers the babies and aunts and his tears dropped to the cockpit floor, the cockpit door, and the flames told him to jump out quick, before they licked; and when they found him surrounded by silk, they took him back to the deck; and he watched TV and rested, and watched the news, of people running, running, running away; but they didn’t show the granddads , mothers, babies and aunts; his grim, sycophants.

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He said, “Yes, I flew a fighter plane over the hills, and the people were running, they were just people, they were villagers, not soldiers, they were running away,” and a tear came to his eye, and it looked like a napalm-rain , as he dabbed away the guilt and regret; because he flew a fighter plane over the hills, and the people were running, running away; but his rain caught them, cindered them; and they weren’t soldiers, they were just people running away, granddads, mothers, babies, aunts; and they were all running, running, running - away then he flew his plane home, over the hills, on to the deck, in to the mess, and ate the food and drank some coffee, and watched TV; and they fuelled, and bombed him up, and he flew again, over the hills, over the hills, far away, far away, passing over the black-scorched earth, the granddads and mothers the babies and aunts and his tears dropped to the cockpit floor, the cockpit door, and the flames told him to jump out quick, before they licked; and when they found him surrounded by silk, they took him back to the deck; and he watched TV and rested, and watched the news, of people running, running, running away; but they didn’t show the granddads , mothers, babies and aunts; his grim, sycophants.