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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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The silence of morn makes this place forlorn in the fields, the hillsides, and trenches. Over two hundred years since the bloodshed and fear, yet you can hear the yells, smell the stenches. The crush of the blue, charging straight and true at the redcoats behind all their breast-works, The bayonets clash, and the musket-balls crash, the cannon’s roar shaking all the Earth. Two centuries gone by, you can still see the lines, hear the cries of dying men down in the grass, to some it’s meadow, but to those in the know Saratoga is a place of today’s past. In a Vegas hotel are some relics that tell of a ship that tangled with an ice-berg. The trinkets and things of those traveling, raised up from the ocean and preserved. From Gilded Age times, these objects passed b you can imagine in a person’s pocket. Watches for a vest, tooth-paste and a dress, dishes, satchels, and a locket. And there, grey and dull, a big piece of hull hangs before you just beyond your grasp, these titanic remains, they make a good claim for being a place of today’s past. A theater in D.C, it tells the sad story of a great man who was cut down too soon. Sitting in these rows, seeing the play go until the shock comes from a pistol’s loud boom. Imagine the sounds when Wilkes-Booth leapt down, the chaos, the confusion, the frenzy, a war we had won, then the sound of a gun, and a chase for a dastard enemy. That theater this day means more than plays echoing the sounds of that old blast, we still feel it now, though we can’t say how, it’s forever a place of today’s past. The present goes quick, there’s no stopping it, and the world it wrenches and spasms. We forget about time and its endless line, we pretend that it’s like a great chasm. But mankind don’t change, we’re much the same as those past that we pretend we’re beyond. If we lived back then would we do different, or would we the same road walk upon? We find an old space, the present is erased, and the memories start coming so fast, we revisit that hell and we see ourselves when we stand in a place of today’s past.

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A Place of Today's Past

The silence of morn makes this place forlorn in the fields, the hillsides, and trenches. Over two hundred years since the bloodshed and fear, yet you can hear the yells, smell the stenches. The crush of the blue, charging straight and true at the redcoats behind all their breast-works, The bayonets clash, and the musket-balls crash, the cannon’s roar shaking all the Earth. Two centuries gone by, you can still see the lines, hear the cries of dying men down in the grass, to some it’s meadow, but to those in the know Saratoga is a place of today’s past. In a Vegas hotel are some relics that tell of a ship that tangled with an ice-berg. The trinkets and things of those traveling, raised up from the ocean and preserved. From Gilded Age times, these objects passed b you can imagine in a person’s pocket. Watches for a vest, tooth-paste and a dress, dishes, satchels, and a locket. And there, grey and dull, a big piece of hull hangs before you just beyond your grasp, these titanic remains, they make a good claim for being a place of today’s past. A theater in D.C, it tells the sad story of a great man who was cut down too soon. Sitting in these rows, seeing the play go until the shock comes from a pistol’s loud boom. Imagine the sounds when Wilkes-Booth leapt down, the chaos, the confusion, the frenzy, a war we had won, then the sound of a gun, and a chase for a dastard enemy. That theater this day means more than plays echoing the sounds of that old blast, we still feel it now, though we can’t say how, it’s forever a place of today’s past. The present goes quick, there’s no stopping it, and the world it wrenches and spasms. We forget about time and its endless line, we pretend that it’s like a great chasm. But mankind don’t change, we’re much the same as those past that we pretend we’re beyond. If we lived back then would we do different, or would we the same road walk upon? We find an old space, the present is erased, and the memories start coming so fast, we revisit that hell and we see ourselves when we stand in a place of today’s past.