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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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Death Comes All arguments and denials were fruitless; The deceased fell prey to the Master Thief. The “One” whose icy-cold touch is . . . Just Too Cold to Resist! . . . They Say! No worries though . . . They Say: “He looks so life-like!” “He looks like he’s sleeping!” “They do wonders with embalming fluid, don’t they!” “Who wants to live forever anyway?” The deceased’s body epitomizes all four. I’m sure the deceased appreciated them all . . . As if the dead could talk and nod in agreement. Alas! The body’s texture is . . . Cold-Rock-Hard. No surprises here! The thoughts of what might’ve been, Are now . . . What could’ve been and what should’ve been! “I guess we’ll never really know.” . . . They Say. “I wonder what he would say?” . . . They Say. “But the dead don’t talk.” . . . I Say. That icy-cold touch of the Master Thief . . . It was just too cold to resist! The sweet ‘n stale odors now so deep in the air, Overwhelm everyone packed in the funeral parlor. The loved ones, friends, and visitors all walk Outside into the very frigidly-cold night air. An anxious pale-yellow full moon awaits us all . . . It looms now larger-than-life across the cold-night sky. It looks down at all of us . . . so sad and so forlorn. All of us seemed to be momentarily spellbound by this Mournful visage of the full moon on this very sad night. Perhaps, this was an omen of some sort—I thought. But what to do? A life is over . . . A person is dead. I walked away from the others in our group before Preparing to leave. I needed take some time, some moments, to collect my Thoughts and memories of my dear deceased friend who Was lying now all alone only steps away inside of the Confines of dimly-lit chamber of the mortuary nearby. As I slowly walked away, very deep in thought, it was only A few minutes later, and then I suddenly stopped . . . When, I started to hear the faint echo of a deep-raspy voice Sounding out some very strange words in the cold-night air. These faint words had a definite imperative resonance, Sounding almost like inexplicable, ethereous vibrations. “You know the Myth, they say, is true my sad friend.” “Yes, my icy-cold touch is just too cold to resist!” “But don’t worry though . . . you won’t feel a thing!” The faint echo of this deep-raspy voice sounded once more . . . “No worries though . . . it’s not yet your time!” The very last sound I heard before quickly leaving the area was An eerie rattle of frozen-ice droplets colliding intensely in the air, Whilst making a high-pitched crystalline-like type of sound. All very spooky for sure, I thought . . . These frozen-ice droplets reflected the macabre image of a faint Blackish-grey frozen hand, arrayed with jaggedly-long fingernails! I then, momentarily gasped and paused—then gasped again, Whilst transfixed in a moment of true fear and mesmerization! It was like my mind, my very being was in a catatonic state, A mental stupor of sorts . . . and then, I snapped out of it! Yes, ah . . . I thought, ah . . . Oh No! . . . Oh God! . . . It’s Him! It’s Death Himself! He’s the “One” whose icy-cold touch is . . . Just Too Cold to Resist! Death Comes! May God Help Us All! Requiescat In Pace. Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, August 3, 2017 (Lyric)

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Death Comes

Death Comes All arguments and denials were fruitless; The deceased fell prey to the Master Thief. The “One” whose icy-cold touch is . . . Just Too Cold to Resist! . . . They Say! No worries though . . . They Say: “He looks so life-like!” “He looks like he’s sleeping!” “They do wonders with embalming fluid, don’t they!” “Who wants to live forever anyway?” The deceased’s body epitomizes all four. I’m sure the deceased appreciated them all . . . As if the dead could talk and nod in agreement. Alas! The body’s texture is . . . Cold-Rock-Hard. No surprises here! The thoughts of what might’ve been, Are now . . . What could’ve been and what should’ve been! “I guess we’ll never really know.” . . . They Say. “I wonder what he would say?” . . . They Say. “But the dead don’t talk.” . . . I Say. That icy-cold touch of the Master Thief . . . It was just too cold to resist! The sweet ‘n stale odors now so deep in the air, Overwhelm everyone packed in the funeral parlor. The loved ones, friends, and visitors all walk Outside into the very frigidly-cold night air. An anxious pale-yellow full moon awaits us all . . . It looms now larger-than-life across the cold-night sky. It looks down at all of us . . . so sad and so forlorn. All of us seemed to be momentarily spellbound by this Mournful visage of the full moon on this very sad night. Perhaps, this was an omen of some sort—I thought. But what to do? A life is over . . . A person is dead. I walked away from the others in our group before Preparing to leave. I needed take some time, some moments, to collect my Thoughts and memories of my dear deceased friend who Was lying now all alone only steps away inside of the Confines of dimly-lit chamber of the mortuary nearby. As I slowly walked away, very deep in thought, it was only A few minutes later, and then I suddenly stopped . . . When, I started to hear the faint echo of a deep-raspy voice Sounding out some very strange words in the cold-night air. These faint words had a definite imperative resonance, Sounding almost like inexplicable, ethereous vibrations. “You know the Myth, they say, is true my sad friend.” “Yes, my icy-cold touch is just too cold to resist!” “But don’t worry though . . . you won’t feel a thing!” The faint echo of this deep-raspy voice sounded once more . . . “No worries though . . . it’s not yet your time!” The very last sound I heard before quickly leaving the area was An eerie rattle of frozen-ice droplets colliding intensely in the air, Whilst making a high-pitched crystalline-like type of sound. All very spooky for sure, I thought . . . These frozen-ice droplets reflected the macabre image of a faint Blackish-grey frozen hand, arrayed with jaggedly-long fingernails! I then, momentarily gasped and paused—then gasped again, Whilst transfixed in a moment of true fear and mesmerization! It was like my mind, my very being was in a catatonic state, A mental stupor of sorts . . . and then, I snapped out of it! Yes, ah . . . I thought, ah . . . Oh No! . . . Oh God! . . . It’s Him! It’s Death Himself! He’s the “One” whose icy-cold touch is . . . Just Too Cold to Resist! Death Comes! May God Help Us All! Requiescat In Pace. Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, August 3, 2017 (Lyric)