| Georgia dawns and weeping willows | 
| Days of summer, long ago | 
| Angel wings in fallen snow | 
| You remind me of piano keys | 
| A little sharp on middle C | 
| Dust on soundboard, vase of roses | 
| Roaring fire where hound dog dozes | 
| You remind me | 
| How sweet it all can be | 
| How to whisper, how to sing | 
| Of the passion that we brought to everything | 
| Of the promise that was Spring | 
| You remind me love is nothing | 
| But the best that life can bring | 
| You remind me of radio plays | 
| In the «Golden Age of Radio» days | 
| When imagination still was king | 
| Didn’t need to see everything | 
| You remind me of shooting stars | 
| Life was a joy, if the living was hard | 
| Rewards were few, and patience thin | 
| It was easy to begin again | 
| You remind me | 
| How sweet it all can be | 
| You remind me of feather pillows | 
| Georgia dawns, and weeping willows | 
| Days of summer, long ago | 
| Angel wings in fallen snow | 
| You remind me of piano keys | 
| A little sharp in middle C | 
| Dust on soundboard, vase of roses | 
| A roaring fire where a hound dog dozes | 
| You remind me | 
| How sweet it all can be | 
| How to whisper, how to sing | 
| Of the passion we brought to everything | 
| Of the promise that was Spring | 
| You remind me love is nothing | 
| But the best that life can bring |