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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www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry
A Large Number
Four billion people on this earth,
but my imagination is the way it's always been:
bad with large numbers.

It is still moved by particularity.

It flits about the darkness like a flashlight beam,
disclosing only random faces,
while the rest go blindly by,
unthought of, unpitied.

Not even a Dante could have stopped that.

So what do you do when you're not,
even with all the muses on your side?

Non omnis moriar—a premature worry.

Yet am I fully alive, and is that enough?
It never has been, and even less so now.

I select by rejecting, for there's no other way,
but what I reject, is more numerous,
more dense, more intrusive than ever.

At the cost of untold losses—a poem, a sigh.

I reply with a whisper to a thunderous calling.

How much I am silent about I can't say.

A mouse at the foot of mother mountain.

Life lasts as long as a few lines of claws in the sand.


My dreams—even they are not as populous as they should be.

There is more solitude in them than crowds or clamor.

Sometimes someone long dead will drop by for a bit.

A single hand turns a knob.

Annexes of echo overgrow the empty house.

I run from the threshold down into the quiet
valley seemingly no one's—an anachronism by now.


Where does all this space still in me come from—
that I don't know.
Written by: Wislawa Szymborska

Book: Shattered Sighs