You don't remind me of the iris in spring,
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Or of dawn on the mountain when the bluebirds start to sing.
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You don't remind me of the breeze on the bay,
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Or a star in the fountain where the silver fishes play.
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Through the moonglow in September,
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You reveal no resemblance of the first snow in November,
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You're not even a semblance.
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No, you don't remind me of the world around me,
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For behind me for so much such,
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My love for you blinds me,
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That my darling you only remind me of you,
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Of you, of you.
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You Don't Remind Me
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| Frank Sinatra |
