Saw its church and battered houses,
Saw the Bulgars’ lines before it,
Snow-capped Beles to the Eastward,
Grand Couronné to the Westward.
All those winter months the Dudshires
Picked and dug the Serbian hillside.
Left their mark on Macedonia
Like a tripper on a tree trunk,
Slaved their souls out making trenches,
Slaved their souls out making dug-outs,