O fortune’s child with dreams so wide,
Whose visions shimmer, gilt with pride—
You count not coins but grand ideas,
Investing hopes in bold frontiers.
A mansion built of maybe-so,
A yacht that waits where wishes go,
The mind’s own stock forever grows,
Where fantasy and fortune close.
For riches start where plans ignite,
In risk, in grit, in sleepless night.
The millionaire is born in spark,
Not gilded vaults or jewels dark.
So toast the dream, the climb, the chance,
The daring spirit’s bold advance—
For every tycoon starts the same:
A flicker first, then golden flame.