I am a Xmas Pudding [sonnet impromptu 7]

Short though the night   in solitude passing
wakefully writing   line upon line
long in the thought   vague in the guessing
high is the hill!   hid is the sign!

short though the night   writing & reading
deep in the dark   winterly brooding
idly thinking   happily heeding
traces of graces   lately including

pleasantries passing (electrically shared)
winterish hinterland-dwelling a while
not up for caroling   scarcely exuding

Christmas demeanor   (barely prepared
for social engagement)   yet in a style
buoyantly blissful   & rich as a pudding