On another mundane and uneventful pandemic day,  

Nestled within my room’s four walls, where monotony swayed, 

And the black-and-white piano keys collected dust, 

My brother, out of the blue, would voice an odd desire to my parents:  

“I want a bird,” he would say.  

They thought he was insane, and I, too, found myself pondering the same. 

But they said if he did his research, his wish could potentially take flight. 

 

Fast forward to the present day, 

There’s a cage in sight and a feathery flock sitting inside. 

And now every dawn at seven, I hear a fluttering delight. 

At first, I anticipated familiar chirps, akin to most birds. 

Yet, unconventional sounds emerged from his beak. 

 

My African Grey, Maverick, flaps his wings, 

Conversing human-like with phrases of “Hey Google” and “Superstar,” 

Or even the sounds of a farm, part of his repertoire.  

 

Perched upon my shoulder, a feathery camaraderie, 

Maverick has become a lively symphony: 

One that Beethoven would approve of.  

His unusual melody brings life and laughter to the barren house, 

Singing at the fortissimo opera level,  

He prevents the silence from echoing too loud. 

 

I always wonder how this bird found a family to adore, 

Yet his presence fills a gap, a welcomed embrace. 

Returning to his cage, a ritual each day, 

“Thank you! Bye-bye,” he softly says. 

 

A bird, an unexpected note in the song of life, 

Maverick, the missing piece all along.