Shredded Triscuit

I bit into a Triscuit today and flashed on my Grandfather,
Fifty-five years ago when I was two.
At the farm house on County road in Doylestown, Bucks County, PA.
He ate shredded wheat biscuits every morning with whole milk and sugar.
He did not crunch them up like my Mom did,
He cut the biscuit, like a piece of cake, with the side of his spoon,
And scooped each milk dripping morsel into his mouth.
What a wonderful picture in my mind as I sat at my desk.
Another working day among many,
pleasantly sparked by the power of fond memories of days gone by.