The hour glass

DRAMATIS PERSONAE
A WISE MAN
A FOOL
SOME PUPILS
AN ANGEL
THE WISE MAN'S WIFE AND TWO CHILDREN

I was sitting in my she salon ruminating on the conversation I'd just had on the phone with the nice lady from the Académie who is helping me sort out the financial merde I'm in (through no direct fault of my own.  circumstances come into play here) but was realising slowly that the sorting out of these circumstances was all down to me, when a dandelion seed landed in my glass of wine.  Out of respect for the clock, I took an hour to sip it while I thought some more. I wrote a synthesis of our conversation down on a piece of paper so I could deal with it in a methodical way tomorrow.  I watched the first swallows spin over the roof of the moulin and began to feel cold.  I looked at the little seed floating in the almost empty glass and realised my hour was up. I walked home down the canal with Sylvia Plath in my head, but curled up by the fire, google informed me that the Hour Glass was all down to W.B Yeats and that Plath already had her Bell Jar.
It's a play.  I didn't get further than the dramatis personae, but they were enough to stop me in my tracks.
If the cap fits.....