Cauldron of Conversion to Evil - a poem I am thinking of revisiting

Twelve witches gathered that night
among the hemlock choked woods
around their black cauldron of sins
to welcome another to their coven
unwilling though she may have come.
Bound in the tree above that pot
suspended by the rope used to hang
those who commited heinous crimes
she squirmed in her hemp constraints
as below her the hags began their craft
to warp her into one of their evil kind.
Three sisters stirred that pot laughing
as two more chanted the spells hoarsely
to transform the sweet young thing
into a wicked enchantress of men
to be the new leader of their numbers
and make them strong as once they'd been
before the Inquisition found their queen
just a few weeks afore their Blackes mass.
They named each of the cardinal sins,
tossing in the ingredients to maker her over
clothing, tools, and other things imbued
with the sins banned by the Fathers
as being those of the points of Evil's Compass.
then the lowered the screaming virgin down
into the boiling broth of foul enchanting
all chanting and pouring out their hate
for the girl to absorb into boiled skin
amid the frothing green concoction.
Those with paddles held her under
as others struck her with cat'o'nines
when she lifted arms or legs, even back
out of the soup she was now part of
Then came the moment of the midnight hour
and the owl and raven cried out above
The let rise the green skinned hag
they had just created to joine them
She thanked her sistern for freeing her
from the bounds of purity and good
casting her first dire spell upon the ground
as at last the trees died, shedding all
leaves and bark as well to mark the woods
as being haunted by the ghosts of those
slain by their spells, starting with her own mother.