I'll review this.
it's one of my favourites.

The sky hung over me like a serious-faced portrait - child-like, a sort of immature perception, but it matches the simplicty of the poem and really works.

in my black wellies
And fat black welt of a tongue, that I could
Die in this air. - wormy and bleak, has an edge (like the november day you're describing, horrible death-smelling grey weather).

miserable and quite brilliant!