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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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Given the once over by the Sister, The church goer and the tower, Of Christian family morality and life, Of character for faith and social power. Understanding fundamentalism well, And having grieved myself thoroughly, I took the three sessions that were offered, Albeit waveringly, hesitantly. So I glided through the conversation, Understood the Sister’s fears, That me and James were an item, That he did have carer gears. So I said that we were close (once), And that he fed me often at tea, And every Saturday lunch time, He was my carer affectionately. But I had to validate myself, By disclosing that my dad attended, To me sometimes for some things, In the evenings normally when he was handed. But she scowled and brushed with her hand her face, Expecting me not to note her query, About my mother as my sole carer, Because of religious assumptions dreary. But I assured her that I got male care too, And worried about the consequences, Because I then concluded she’d been told, That only my mother did the care exercises. I found my mother pretentious, In the question of care domination, control, She wanted to exemplify Christian purity, And fulfil her Christian wife role. But at the end of the three hours, After the three counselling sessions for bereavement, The Sister thought I’d by ok in the future, And that of my life there would be no temporary adjournment. But when you lie, things just don’t work out, So I exploded three weeks later, At Charlie about her psychological model, Said that I was gone, a gater. So he talked to me about James, And to him I managed to say I was ok, Because I had grieved and then gone on from that, Knowing that the weeks would bring a better day. He told me to talk to him in the future, For bereavement counselling, But I felt the Sister’s disapproval, Upon my back when leaving. That was fine, to reject the church decisively, To illuminate their lack of perception, About life’s real issues: death, effort and love, So I was happy to be from then to her a complication.

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The Once Over

Given the once over by the Sister, The church goer and the tower, Of Christian family morality and life, Of character for faith and social power. Understanding fundamentalism well, And having grieved myself thoroughly, I took the three sessions that were offered, Albeit waveringly, hesitantly. So I glided through the conversation, Understood the Sister’s fears, That me and James were an item, That he did have carer gears. So I said that we were close (once), And that he fed me often at tea, And every Saturday lunch time, He was my carer affectionately. But I had to validate myself, By disclosing that my dad attended, To me sometimes for some things, In the evenings normally when he was handed. But she scowled and brushed with her hand her face, Expecting me not to note her query, About my mother as my sole carer, Because of religious assumptions dreary. But I assured her that I got male care too, And worried about the consequences, Because I then concluded she’d been told, That only my mother did the care exercises. I found my mother pretentious, In the question of care domination, control, She wanted to exemplify Christian purity, And fulfil her Christian wife role. But at the end of the three hours, After the three counselling sessions for bereavement, The Sister thought I’d by ok in the future, And that of my life there would be no temporary adjournment. But when you lie, things just don’t work out, So I exploded three weeks later, At Charlie about her psychological model, Said that I was gone, a gater. So he talked to me about James, And to him I managed to say I was ok, Because I had grieved and then gone on from that, Knowing that the weeks would bring a better day. He told me to talk to him in the future, For bereavement counselling, But I felt the Sister’s disapproval, Upon my back when leaving. That was fine, to reject the church decisively, To illuminate their lack of perception, About life’s real issues: death, effort and love, So I was happy to be from then to her a complication.