This is an old poem I found in my email files.  Not my best, but interesting nonetheless.

I am loathe to canonize these musings leaking from my pen!

Before the closing and the sealing — all the words were fluid then,

when all at once the wax was hard and thought immortalized,

yet dead within the very texts I sought to canonize.

I know when I am laid to rest and rotting in the ground,

your arguments will rock the earth; your bickering resound,

You forget that I am living in the very words you say;

forget the past is present in the rites performed today

I ask for your indulgence and your reader’s acumen

when you seek to read the thoughts that once were mulling in my head,

for you must not merely read and say, “The writer said this then,”

but say, “This writer lives and is my very wine and bread.”