Who Wants To Play? Poem by Ima Ryma

I was with my son in the car.
At the time he was three years old.
We had not been driving too far.
He wanted his window unrolled
When we had to stop for a pile
Of traffic all jammed up ahead.
We sat in the car there a while,
The two of us - nothing was said.
Then suddenly I heard him say,
'A bunch of kids are asking me'
'To come over with them to play.'
I heard nothing - what could this be?

He pointed and so I did stare.
A graveyard and no one was there.