Smugglers Poem by Ima Ryma

On a motorbike, persons two
Cross the border every week.
And each time the border guards do
A search for smuggled stuff to seek.
Both the persons are searched each time.
All their possessions are searched also,
But never clue of any crime.
Guards have to let the persons go.
The two persons are smugglers, yes,
But never give a hint or tip.
And so the guards do never guess
What is being smuggled each trip.

The persons laugh as they drive by.
They're smuggling motorbikes is why.