The voice that launched a thousand nods, approving of her diction;
Listening to Joyce Lamont was almost an addiction.
Her crisp yet kindly household hints, her recipes sublime;
Somehow made the day seem bright and took away the grime.
Her presence on the radio bled Midwest sanity;
A welcome change from worldly cares and ceaseless vanity.
Unruffled as the prairie sage upon a dewy morn,
She never used theatrics or would stoop to chintzy scorn.
Indeed, her dulcet tones were cherished when I was a child,
Because I had a tendency to drive my mother wild –
But when she had chased me down and had me finally at bay,
The voice of Joyce distracted her . . . and I could get away!