Fledgling Orchards of Silicon

In circuits' groves, new orchards rise and glow, Yet fruits of lucre scantily do they bestow. Branches reach skyward with electrum dreams, Where profit's sunlight scarcely beams. Amid the titans' towering fiscal might, These saplings grow, absent of golden light, Banking on future's fertile, unturned soil, For harvests rich beyond the toil.

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