I haven't received any more inquiries in a couple of days, so I guess folks have given up; I'm posting my answer below, but am allowing plenty of space and this warning in case any late comers want to decide to try this.
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Here is my answer, which Omni Magazine decided was the best:

Wilberforce's Young Whale
by Bill Velek, December 1980

Bishop Sam Wilberforce gave man a riddle,
And for over a century many did fiddle,
But few could perceive that the key to it all
Was the loud "voice" in Orchestra, nonmusical.

The accents in Or' che' stra are where I am heard,
But seen there in person? That would be absurd,
For I am an "orca" (that's Latin for "whale"),
As proclaimed by two syllables in a clue to this tale.

For "any young animal", Webster's slang is: "a bird",
But for me to have feathers would, again, be absurd.
Although, as a "young" whale, a "bird" I might be,
I would look strange roosting up in a tree.

And as for gay plumage, my feathers be one --
The plume from my blowhole, iridescent in sun.

In water I live, so in water I die,
Unless touching beach, I expire when dry.
I fly through the air in great leaps from the sea,
And swimming, or course, just comes natural to me.

An air breathing mammal, my breathing my cease,
whenever I dive to find krill for my feast.
And into the depths of the earth I do dive,
In search of the food that I need to survive.

When breath I have lost, to the surface I swim,
To the world up above, though my future be dim,
For man in my hunter, he kills me on sight,
And he uses my whale oil to brighten his night.

In that sense, 'tis true then that "light is my death",
And "darkness destroys me", so my epitaph --
I think it should say, quite appropriately,
"My death is light -- for the Nineteenth Century".

Though women have frequently mentioned my name,
Their meaning and I are not always the same,
For when they say "wale", they speak not of me,
But rather of fabric, or baskets they see.

So, what of the last clue? What were we to find?
That gender wasn't certain; what was, was mankind.

The end.

I hope some of you enjoyed the riddle and/or my answer. That was the first and only poem I've ever written, other than the 'Roses are red, violets are blue ...' sort of junk most of us have played with, so I think I did pretty well with it even though I know there are imperfections in both rhyme and meter.

Cheers.

Bill Velek

Nice one Sekerob I knew you would just have to make beer fit the riddle somehow. Well done to you and also to Bill for the poem. I think on seeing the poem Bill mailed to me, I'll take credit for being 75% right as I agree with Bill over the Bird and Anglo Saxon reference of it being young.


Once again, nice one Bill